


Encore

by SimonBlackchill



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Alternate Universe - a mix of Star Wars universe & modern world, Assault, Backstage party, Baze has bunnies......, Biting, Casual Sex, Communication, Concerts, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Fighting, Fire, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Getting Together, Hotel Sex, M/M, Making Out, Musicians, Nipple Play, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Oral Sex, Partying, Pets, Protected Sex, Self-Indulgent, Sleepy Cuddles, bisexual Baze, but thats only in chapter 4, cisgender Chirrut, gay Chirrut, spiritassassin, transgender Baze Malbus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-01-15 05:04:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12314313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimonBlackchill/pseuds/SimonBlackchill
Summary: Baze Malbus is the bass player, lyricist and lead vocalist of the small rock band called The Whills. Chirrut Îmwe is their long-time fan who is especially fond of Baze Malbus' voice and lyrics. One day, Chirrut gets to meet the band, and he becomes close to the bass player who takes a liking to him.The question is: if Baze plays bass, who plays Baze?





	1. Opening Track

**Author's Note:**

> If you're here just for the NSFW content, it's in Chapter 4. You're welcome!

_At the end of a dream_  
_If you know where I mean_  
_When the mist just starts to clear_  
  
_In a similar way_  
_At the end of today_  
_I can feel the sound of writing on the wall_  
_It cries for you_  
_It's the least that you can do_

 

* * *

 

The club had an upstairs bar, and when the doors opened to the music club, Chirrut was one of the first ones to move from the bar to the door. A woman with a studded leather coat checked his ticket from a print-out he gave, and with the help of his staff he found his way to the bar of the downstairs part of the club. He took a seat by the counter and ordered a simple beer, listened as the building slowly filled with about five hundred or so people. He heard voices of all kinds and few of them could he recognize, he listened to the familiar ones talk about soundcheck things on stage, heard a few chords be played on the guitar. He was close enough to the stage to hear people talk as they arranged things on it, and he tried his best to hear a specific voice above all. It was, of course unlikely, as the warm-up band was going to play first.

"There any new merch?" asked Chirrut when he heard the bartender walk close enough. He sipped his beer and nodded towards where he knew the merchandise stand to be, somewhere near the coat rack.

"Since the shirt you got last time?"

Chirrut nodded and took a hold of his t-shirt's collar and moved it a bit, just to show that he wore it just for the occasion. He knew the shirt had the logo of _The Whills_ on black fabric, printed in gold.

"Nothing, really."

"Thought so. Is it going much?"

"Denic said they'd be signing albums today after the set," said the bartender. "So they stacked a bit more records today."

"Cool," said Chirrut. He patted his bag with his hand. He had an album with him, just in case he were to bump into the band's members. He hadn't the last time he had come, but he felt this night was different. He felt lucky.

When the warm-up band came, the club was only half-full. _The Whills_ ' gig sold out during the pre-show. Last audience members bought their tickets while the band played a heated set of punk electronica that got the crowd jumping even though most of them didn't know the songs from before. And as he listened, Chirrut once again determined that his chosen spot had the best sound quality. The very centre of the club's gig area was ideal for hearing the perfect balance of all instruments and vocals, just the way they had been mixed. Had he had someone with him, he would have gone dancing, but going in the midst of a restless audience would have overwhelmed him in uncomfortable amounts.

"When do _Whills_ start?" asked Chirrut when the warm-up set ended, and he ordered another beer. A fan from next to him told him that it was going to be a good 45 minutes. During that time, Chirrut asked the fan to keep his seat, went to the toilet, and returned.

The playlist of the bar itself played a random selection of psychedelic rock the rhythm of which got Chirrut tapping his fingertips against the counter. The counter was slightly sticky from all the beer and cider stains of the day. It only added to the grit and the grime of the place - the grit of the music and the grime of the people. The volume of people's chatter rose higher than the volume of the music, and Chirrut managed to hold a short conversation with the fan next to him right before the gig started.

When it did, the volume levels rose exponentially, and Chirrut knew to turn to the direction of the stage. Enthusiastic cheering and chanting welcomed the band to the club. Chirrut clapped and screamed with everyone else as the opening instrumental of _The Whills_ ' latest album blared from the loudspeakers. Now, the audience could no longer talk and expect to be heard. The band demanded everyone's attention.

The music of _The Whills_ was what their bass player, singer and head lyricist Baze Malbus had described as heavy psychedelic rock with disco metal influences. When the instrumental background tape was over, the bass grumbled the intro riff of _Battlefield_ , opening song of their newest album. The four-string bass sang a deep melody, then the other members' instruments accompanied it - the guitar and keyboards and drums. Chirrut found himself, as always, focusing mostly on the bass lines.

Baze Malbus played the bass like an electric guitar, hitting the strings hard with his pick and fingers. The bass riffs rode in harmony with the guitar riffs, fulfilled the more melodic guitar with a deep supporting undertone that gave the music what Chirrut considered its unique flair. He was not, admittedly, as familiar with the new album as the fan who sat next to him, and he could not have sung along to the first track of the gig. But he knew when the singing was going to start, and as it did, goose bumps took over his skin and a wave of heat washed over him.

Baze Malbus' voice came through as the guitar and synths calmed down. He sang the first verse with a low-pitched moan, hitting every note and pronouncing every word so deep from his heart Chirrut had to place his hand on his chest, in awe. His voice was smokey and low, gravelly almost. It was what Chirrut would have described as a whiskey voice. And because Chirrut knew Baze had written the lyrics, they hit him differently, he felt them deeply. _Battlefield_ was a song about the end of the war with the Federation, when their city had been under siege and when most of the band members had been out, fighting.

" _And the Star greeted us with benevolence_ ," sang Baze and hit a few more strings. " _On the morning of peace, it thought we were sad women, it thought we were sad men. Sun stared down at us on this cold weary moon. On every blood-stained dune, oh yeah, was a tired soldier cryin'..._ "

Chirrut remembered the chorus better than the rest of the song. He did not harbour the habit of singing along too much. With ear plugs, his singing would have drowned out that of Baze Malbus, and he did not want to miss it. Instead he smiled, let it spread on his face and he mouthed the lyrics and clapped his palms against his thighs in the rhythm of the drums. The song had a heart-wrenching description of the war's end, and it wrapped up with an intense build-up of a guitar solo intertwining with the keyboards and backup vocals of the chorus. When it ended, the club exploded into applause.

After the biggest applause had died down, Baze Malbus stepped to the mic again. "How are y'all doing tonight?"

To that, the audience responded with a thunderous _YEAH_. Baze laughed into the mic, sending more shivers down Chirrut's spine. Baze's talking was even lower in pitch than his singing voice, and his accent was more audible when he talked than when he sang.

"I hope you all are good. Except, you know, racists and Imperial punks, you can all eat shit. Am I right?"

Chirrut and hundreds of other people clapped in approval. This was one of the many reasons why Chirrut adored the band so much - they were un-apologetically political.

"The next one is from _The Guardian_ ," he said, waited for the subsequent applause to dissipate a bit. _The Guardian_ was the debut album of _The Whills_ \- not the one that shot them to broader fame, but a well loved album anyhow, and it had at least half of Chirrut's all-time favourite songs on it.

"Some of you may remember... And no, it's not _Tequila Sunrise_ ," said Baze after having heard a loud chant from the front row begging for the lighter-hearted track to be played. "This one will make you all high... _Sky High_."

The set lasted for one hour and thirty minutes. It included one encore. Chirrut clapped his palms raw, screamed his lungs sore. The music took him to heights nothing else could have taken him to, gave him sensations that were close to being divine. His throat swelled as the excitement of his favourite music embraced him, as the sound of Baze Malbus' voice kept him simultaneously grounded and in a trance.

During the gig the band had played all of Chirrut's favourite songs except for one: the titular song of the first album, _The Guardian_. After the final applause had died down, he turned to the bartender and handed his empty pint to her.

"Do you think they'll be at the table soon?"

"Oh, definitely. I think they're already going."

And with that, Chirrut left the bar and with the help of his staff and his social nature, he found the queue of the merch table, despite the disorientation his two beers had pushed him into.

 

* * *

 

Baze Malbus was ready to scribble a few autographs and chat with the people who brought him his monthly income in a somewhat regular basis. Backstage, he wiped his face into a white towel brought to him. He switched from one shirt to another and cooled down his heating body with a sip of cold wine, pressed the bottle against his sweaty forehead and just sat for a moment. Sweat dripped down Baze's face, and he had to wipe his head as well as most strands of his long hair.

His fingertips ached and his throat felt dry, but the noise of the club beckoned him. Kaya, Denic, and Silvanie - the guitarist, drummer, and keyboard player - chatted with one another and Baze found, again, pleasure in watching them. Fondness and gratitude filled his heart every time he realized that he was in a band with his best friends.

Kaya, a single mother of three, rubbed her fingers after a wild shredding of the guitar of yet another night. Denic, a mechanic and a guerrilla fighter during the war, still slammed the air every now and then as if holding drum sticks in her hands. Silvanie, who on her home world spoke in gestures but on Jedha had to use a voice synthesizer to communicate and to bring haunting background vocals to the music, had a habit of listening more than talking. They were a balanced bunch, thought Baze.

"Alright," said Kaya finally. "We don't wanna keep 'em waiting. I see there's a queue."

"A queue?" said Denic. "Wow, we're famous. Lock up your daughters for the night, lads..."

"Don't act like it doesn't happen ever," said Kaya and stretched her entire body, then let out a satisfied and loud yawn. She was always the first one to go to bed after a long night out. Baze could survive with little sleep, so for him the evening had only begun. He slapped his thigh and with a loud grunt straightened himself from the sofa.

They made their way relatively peacefully to the stand. High-fives were exchanged with a few audience members, and laughter and compliments accompanied their way. Baze recognized the fans who were always in the front row, always yelling for _Tequila Sunrise_ despite knowing very well that it was the last song. The loudspeakers played the same old music as before, now with louder volume and a bit more recognizable hit songs, or songs the current crowd would have considered as hits anyway, which did not necessarily mean radio hits. A few people stopped Kaya and Denic, forcing them to not hold one another's arms for a while as Denic's wild gestures accompanied her talk about her drum settings. Silvanie and Baze made their way straight to the merch stand.

The table was at the corner of the bar counter, and it had one seat for their merch guy, one for someone else. Baze gave the seat to Silvanie as always, and with smiles they received the first lucky ones asking for autographs and photos. Kaya and Denic arrived eventually and took over the surroundings with their bubbly chatter. Baze in general gave shorter answers but was generous about autographs and photos, he answered questions, and did not rush any fans, for they did not block the entire pathway with their presence.

The albums they signed were mostly their two newest ones. Baze's autograph was swirly and short, and he always placed it at the top right corner of whatever paper he was given. Only when a certain fan arrived did they get to sign the lyric booklet of their debut album.

The fan who brought it was in more or less in his thirties, and he wore a tour shirt and jeans, held a thin wooden staff in his hand, and had the most peculiar eyes Baze had ever seen. The fan had short hair that was just long enough to be called fluffy, and he had no hair at all on his tan, muscular arms. He gave no eye contact, and the way he used his staff and reached for the table gave Baze the answer as to why. He had no visible pupils, and unlike Baze's eyes that were as dark as his own hair colour like was the case of most inhabitants of Jedha, the fan's eyes were milky, almost icy in their shade of blue.

When he was met with the table, the fan gave a smile, a smile that revealed white, slightly uneven teeth, and a whole lot of his gums. The way he smiled demanded Baze's attention and he barely registered it when the fan said:

"I'm Chirrut, and I'm a great fan of yours, Baze Malbus."

The fan's eyes moved to Baze's direction. Denic slapped Baze's shoulder, dissatisfied with his reaction speed.

"Hi, Chirrut," said Baze. "Did you like the show?" he asked and took a sip of his wine right away. He saw Chirrut fiddle with the tip of his staff, as if nervous.

"I loved it. Your set list was a bit different from, uh, was it three months ago? I remember you didn't play _Sky High_ then."

"Yeah, we added it to the final leg of this tour to change things up a bit."

"I like that song a lot," said Chirrut, clearly searching for words. "It speaks to me on a very, hmm, personal level. You know, from the level of the heart."

Many people did tell Baze this kind of things. They, however, often focused on the latest additions to their discography, and especially did not speak much of _Sky High_ , a deeply spiritual song. Baze forgot for a brief moment that they were not alone just the two of them with this Chirrut.

"But my favourite from that album must be _Rootless_... No, I think it's _The Guardian_ ," said Chirrut and dug into his bag. The material the bag was made out of looked cheap, almost like sack fabric. He took out an album that had been beaten and battered. The CD's plastic cover had scratches and signs of age, and the old-fashioned cover of the lyric booklet had been bent and even ripped from the corner.

"Check this guy out," said Denic. "He's got I think the first edition of _Guardian_."

"Yeah, that's what it is," said Chirrut with pride. He slid the lyrics booklet out and opened the middle page with portraits of each member. Baze had not seen the photo in almost a decade.

"I forgot what you look like without a beard," said Kaya and pinched Baze's cheek. Baze pushed her away gently and turned to Chirrut, as Chirrut handed him the CD together with the booklet. He flipped through it and shook his head.

"This really is the first edition," Baze muttered.

"I saw you perform at the protest by the temple before you released this," said Chirrut.

"The Whills protest? Wow, you've been here for a long ride, then," said Denic. Chirrut nodded rapidly, with clear excitement. He pointed towards the album's direction and then took a hold of his staff again. Baze noticed a little flickering light at the top of it.

"I fell in love with your song The Guardian. I didn't hear all the lyrics then, but..."

Chirrut's smile hid a significance. "But I think I just knew how important the song was. And is."

"It is my personal favourite," said Silvanie.

"I hope you'll put it back on your set list one day," Chirrut said. Baze dug out a marker from their stack, opened it. The sound alerted Chirrut. He waved his hand in the air and gestured as he spoke.

"I would like to ask you to, uh, sign the spread with the old photos of you lot." He giggled and waved his hand in front of his eyes. "I'm as blind as you get, but it gives me some bragging rights."

"Then why don't you take a photo with us as well?" asked Baze and swished his autograph on top of a much more smooth-cheeked print version of himself. The question got Chirrut to blink rapidly, his smile faded in the surprise.

"A photo?" he repeated. Denic smiled an wrapped her arm around the now blushing Kaya.

"With all of us! We ain't signed that in ages, we'd love a pic with you."

"That'd be an honour," said Chirrut. "Do you need my cell phone for that?"

"Sure." Baze slapped the merch guy's shoulder and nodded upwards with his head as the other band members signed Chirrut's lyric booklet. "Get ready for a photo."

"I don't wanna be in it."

" _Take_ the photo, not _be in it_."

They handed Chirrut the now autographed booklet which disappeared into the cheap-looking bag. He then took out his cell phone and handed it over to the merch guy, who directed them in front of the wall. Baze took it as his responsibility to guide Chirrut to stand in front of them, and as the photo was snapped, his hands were still on the fan's shoulders. He could feel Chirrut shake, turn his head a bit towards Baze as if to say something, but then they were already told to smile.

He did not know how enchanted by his scent Chirrut Îmwe was. How the mix of sweat, tobacco, and wine and body spray intrigued him, how it was so much more than Chirrut had dared to ask for. He found himself lean a bit towards the man, but before he could, his self-restraint took over, and the photo had been taken.

The moment went by in a tipsy haze, and he thanked the band heartily and gave way to the next fan, heard Baze talk to someone else. But then the moment came back for a fleeting second, brought by Baze's bombastic voice, yelling at him through the crowd:

"See you next time."

Chirrut waved his hand, hoped it'd be the case. Chirrut had to wrap up the evening, take a taxi home, and try his best to lull his restless mind to sleep.


	2. Baze & Booze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chirrut ends up backstage with Baze and the rest of The Whills. Beer chugging and sloppy kisses ensue.

_The golden light above you shows me where you're from_  
_The magic in your eye bewitches all you gaze upon_  
_You stand up on your hill, they bebop all around you_  
_They wonder where you're from, oh yeah_  
_They wonder where I found you_

 

* * *

 

  
Baze sent a text message to Bodhi. _I hope you still got food in the fridge. We got a show tomorrow too, don't forget that._  Sometimes, Bodhi could forget the passing of days, even when taking care of pets like Griffin and Leo. Baze moved a little to the side when Denic took a bottle from the backstage fridge behind him. She opened the vodka.

"Who you texting?" she asked and poured some of the drink to a glass she held.

"Bodhi," said Baze. "He's taking care of the rabbits."

"I still can't believe you have pet rabbits. You're more of the bulldog type."

"Listen, bunny rabbits," Baze started, and Denic braced herself for yet another bunny-related rant from her band mate. "...are some really hardcore pets. Not everyone can have them, and I won't hear any shit about them." No smile decorated Baze's lips.

"See, for a while there I thought you were texting with that blind guy."

"Chirrut Îmwe?" said Baze. He had not forgotten the name, he'd even found out the surname. Denic nodded.

"Yeah. That blind guy seems to be also on his phone," Denic nodded towards the dim glass that separated the backstage party room from the rest of the club.

Of course Baze had noticed the guy from the audience. Baze had also seen their group photo posted online. Chirrut had a bright smile on his face in every photo on his photo feed - though he did not have many photos of his face. Baze had found the profile a few weeks after the gig, in this same venue, four months earlier. It was the same tour, and Chirrut had come to yet another one of their gigs. He had not even been hard to spot from the bar. Whenever Baze had been able to steal a glance to his direction, Chirrut had looked serene, happy.

He had wondered about the man, sincerely wondered. Now that he thought about it, Chirrut was not a new face at the venues. He may have even travelled after the band before, but Baze could not be sure. He stared through the dirty glass as if able to see anything. The noise of the backstage party drowned as the ever so thoughtful Baze read a text message from Bodhi, confirming that everything was alright. He set his course out of the room, to the full rock club. He had been told that Chirrut was by the bar, so with well grounded step of his boots he found his way to the counter.

And, indeed, there he was, the man with milky eyes and an old tour shirt of _The Whills_ , deep in conversation with the busy bartender. Baze equipped a diagonal smirk as he approached the fan, tapped the table space in front of him.

"This free?" he asked and got an immediate reaction to being recognized. "I thought I'd relieve Gina from the trouble of entertaining you and do it myself."

A smirk crept on the clean-shaven face. Chirrut laid his pint down and pointed his finger towards Baze's chest.

"Baze Malbus!" he shouted through the noise of the club. "You remember me."

"Only if you forgot about us not playing  _The Guardian_ tonight, either."

"Oh, I only barely forgive you. And that's because you're so good-looking." Chirrut winked with the confidence of a tipsy man, and Baze laughed boisterously.

"But seriously, did you enjoy the show?" Baze asked. He shook his head to Gina's question about wanting a drink. He had a bottle of wine backstage.

"Making sure the clientele is satisfied?" asked Chirrut. He hid a blush behind a sip of his beer.

"One could say that," chuckled Baze. Thirst tickled the top of his tongue. "Well, are you?"

"I loved it. Really, I can't not love a gig of yours. I'm one of _those_ fans."

"You come often?"

"Pretty often, yeah, whenever I can. I come here most eagerly as, you know, I live here."

"Easy to move around?"

"Hit the nail on the head, Malbus."

A certain ease characterized Chirrut's conduct. He could tell from the little fidgeting and the wiping of sweaty palms that Chirrut was nervous, but not too nervous. He held on to his charm at all times, no doubt, unable to shake it off. Maybe even if he wanted to, he would be unable to be anything but charming.

"Then I guess I've seen you before. Not just the last time we were here," Baze said.

"Yeah, I was on your gig up north, that was easy because I had a friend with me."

"You've never gotten a pick or a drum stick, have you?" Baze asked.

"If only you threw them all the way here," said Chirrut with theatrical regret. "But I do thank you for the autographs you gave last time."

"'Twas nothing. I hope you got some bragging rights with it."

"Some, sadly not infinite."

"Do you want a pick?" asked Baze. He lowered his foot from the chair's bars to the floor and gestured towards the backstage door, though he knew Chirrut would not register the movement.

Chirrut wondered for a moment whether the bass player was serious or not. Then he slammed the table with his hand.

"Do I? I would _love_ a pick. But it has got to be from you."

"Then ya gotta come and get it," said Baze. "I don't got any on me, but I should have some backstage."

"Backstage?" repeated Chirrut. Baze could not quite measure the ratio of excitement to nervousness from what he saw on Chirrut just then, from what he heard in his voice.

"Yeah. I invite you over. You can take your beer too if you wanna." The hesitation he saw was evident from the way Chirrut held on to his wooden staff.

"Is it okay with you?" Baze asked. The last thing he wanted was to push his new friend.

"Oh, it is," Chirrut was quick to say. "You just have to guide me there. I haven't been to that part of the club ever, so it's an unknown territory to me."

"Oh, oh, yeah, I'll guide you, no problem."

Chirrut took his beer in one hand and his staff in the other.

"Take my arm," said Baze. Chirrut obeyed. With a gentle hold he grabbed Baze's arm and followed the determined but slow steps closely.

Chirrut found that Baze's skin was warm. Memory of the photo being taken came vividly to mind. Baze had muscle in his arms, Chirrut felt it from the bicep he gently held. And even though he held the staff AND the arm, he had plenty of skin contact - almost more than he needed.

The conclusion he made was that Baze was easy to follow. Some people dilly-dallied, but Baze put energy and weight in his steps, and during the short walk Chirrut did not have to guess where they were going. Even in the middle of a crowd he felt secure. Crowds stirred nervousness and discomfort within him, but with the effect of Baze and booze, comfort stayed for a longer while with Chirrut.

Backstage room met Chirrut with a wall of vapour of various scents, lively chatter, scent of pizza and alcohol, and different music from the rest of the club. Chirrut determined that the place was small in size, and the lack of echo when the door closed from behind them sealed that estimate. Everyone was in close proximity from everyone else. A table fan hummed somewhere, probably in a corner, and someone was jamming on the guitar. Chirrut's educated guess was that it was Kaya, the guitarist of _The Whills_.

"Come over here," said Baze. "Over here." He watched as Chirrut took a seat on the big leathery sofa. Chirrut did not know whether he had been noticed or not, not until Denic spoke to him.

"Fancy seeing you here," she said. "I'm Denic."

"May the Force of others be with you," Chirrut said as his greeting. He waved his hand as a greeting gesture. He second-guessed whether the ancient greeting was appropriate or not, but the guesses were shaken off by Baze's relaxed laughter. His laughter reminded Chirrut of how he sang - from his heart, deeply, with a slightly husky tone.

"Denic, you gotta give him one of your drumsticks," Baze said and dug into his pockets. He sat down on a free spot next to Chirrut. Their knees touched as they sat.

"Does the colour matter?" Baze asked. Chirrut leaned his staff to the sofa between his legs and placed his beer on the small coffee table in front of them, though finding space was hard as it was already full of glasses and bottles.

"What do you think? As long as it's yours, Malbus."

"I like the ring of that. Gimme your hand."

Two thin slices of plastic fell on Chirrut's palm. Baze's fingertips brushed his skin. Shivers took over him for a moment as he fiddled with the picks, trying to level his heartbeat.

"Two? Aren't you generous."

"You quoted my personal favourite song just now." Baze's breath smelled of wine and crisps, and combined with his natural scent and his sweat and body spray it was all very charming. There was a hint of mint - an attempt to hide the grime. Maybe the bass player had used it to clear his voice before the gig, who knew. Chirrut knew surprisingly little about the routines of musicians, as much as he had researched the lives of them as a side effect of finding information about Baze Malbus.

"The one you did not play," Chirrut said. "Right?"

"Yeah."

Chirrut poked Baze Malbus's arm playfully. As he did, he could not see how Baze's gaze was diverted to his bulging bicep as Chirrut lifted his arm for the poke. It sufficed to say that Chirrut Îmwe was ripped, muscular, strong, athletic. A blush of attraction found its way on Baze's cheeks, luckily not seen by the muscular fan.

"Is it that important to you?" Baze asked. He kept on staring at the arm, then at the muscular chest that created shadows on the shirt that was tight enough for the curves and nooks of Chirrut's upper body to show. The lighting was right, and complimentary to his new friend's physique and looks.

"It's the song that got me into you guys so badly," said Chirrut. "You know, at that anti-Imperial concert, I came there together with an old friend. She's the sister of your current guitar player, actually."

"You know Killi?" Baze asked. "Small world."

"It is a very small world," Chirrut laughed. "Luckily. Anyhow, we were there, you know, after the war, we all needed hope. After the Imperials tried to assume power..."

"Oh, you don't need to give me a history lesson, I know," Baze grunted.

"You fought, didn't you?"

"Me, Kaya, Denic, we defended the city, yeah." Baze bit his lip, reached to take his wine glass and sipped to make his suddenly dry throat a bit better. "Guerrilla veterans, hah."

"You performed  _The Guardian_ with so much passion that day. It woulda been endearing had it not been so damn important."

Whenever Chirrut listened to the song, he had the feeling that he was soaring. The seven minute long track discussed the Force and the Universe, and the connection of everything, between everything.

When Baze said nothing, Chirrut continued. "I believe in the Force as you do, I always have. It helped me through the war."

"And me," said Baze.

"It's not to say I'm not, hmm, strong on my own, but it sure is easier to gather your own strength when you feel you're one with the Force, and when the Force is with you."

Baze stared at Chirrut, still, with no hints of shame. Chirrut gestured and expressed his emotions with enthusiasm, but not with broad movements. His voice mirrored his passion, with which he spoke of the song. Baze heard that Chirrut no doubt knew the lyrics and everything by heart.

"What do you think the guardian _is_ , in the song?" asked Baze. "I'm curious."

"The Force, of course." Chirrut's answer was automatic. Baze had no choice but to laugh in reaction.

"Aren't you confident. How can the Force be a noun, like 'guardian'?"

"More metaphorically, Malbus," said Chirrut. "I thought there was more imagination in the mind of a man who wrote a song about the universe itself." Chirrut punched Baze's arm softly. The touch made sparks fly, even if only slight, even if only weak in intensity.

The sound of Chirrut's laughter sent sparks to fly on Baze's body, made his attraction more clear. Chirrut had natural charisma that would have made Baze envious, were he not so drawn to it. Chirrut smelled like some gentle perfume, like beer, and like something Baze could not interpret as anything else but his own scent.

Baze leaned closer still, placed his arm on the back rest of the sofa and leaned his face to his hand, showing keen interest to anyone watching. Every onlooker knew not to interrupt them. Baze Malbus had never before brought in a fan he was so fascinated by, anyone he listened to so closely.

"I'm flattered you love our songs so much. My lyrics are meant to capture people."

Chirrut nodded. "They've captured me for sure."

"The song IS about the Force, by the way. And by that smug look you're giving me, I can tell how much you love being right, Chirrut."

They shared a snicker or two. In comparison to Baze's, Chirrut analyzed his own voice, since they differed so vastly. His own voice was sharper and colder in tone than Baze's, whose voice was deep and raspy. Baze's voice when he sang was similar, but his articulation was a tad clearer during than between songs.

"Do you like people who like being right?" chuckled Chirrut.

"I don't mind them."

Chirrut lifted an eyebrow. "If they agree with you."

"Yeah. I don't mind, if they agree with me."

"I guess we have a lot of things we agree about," said Chirrut. He hoped it was true. Chirrut's cheeks ached with his perpetual smile, he could not wipe it off. His mind presented the question - why did he smile so much? Was it an silly crush on an idol, or was it even forming into a real one, a personal one? The answer lingered in Baze's scent, in the way Chirrut sat close to - _against_ \- his favourite member of his favourite band. He leaned back against the leather back rest and felt Baze's arm against the back of his neck. He placed his hand over his mouth in surprise, a flash of heat came over his face and he moved his hand on his cheek.

"I'm like a crushing teenager," Chirrut admitted. "Malbus, I am starstruck in your company."

"I'm barely a star."

"We are all star stuff in one way or another. You just cultivated that star quality in your lyrics."

"Cultivated, huh?" said Baze and stroked his beard. "Never heard it that way before."

"I'm your fan. You're a charismatic rock musician. What's a humble fan like me to do?"

A loud yell and a thunderous sound of hands being clapped together exploded through the room. Baze lifted his gaze from sinking too deep into Chirrut's eyes, from counting his eyelashes too carefully. Denic placed an empty beer glass onto the desk and lifted her hands, opened her mouth and showed it around. She had just emptied the entire pint, just as she would have, every time.

"What's going on?" asked Chirrut.

"Beer chugging contest, I guess," answered Baze.

"It _would_ be a contest," said Denic and pointed her finger with painted fingernail at Baze, "if I had any _real_ competition."

"Don't look at me," Baze said. "I fucking hate the taste of beer."

"Fucken' wine sipper," Denic mumbled. "How about wine, then?"

"And waste good wine?" said Baze. "To appease your competitive spirit? No thanks."

Chirrut lifted a hand. "I'll challenge you. I'll defeat your time, no problem."

"Your pal is a gutsy one," said Denic. The music was a bit quieter as someone turned the volume down. Chirrut felt a heat rush through his body as he clapped his hands together and stood up.

"This ain't my first podrace."

"Podrace? Mr Worldwide is here," said Denic.

"I got a pal who won a great deal from a race as a kid." Chirrut pointed towards Denic and drew a circle in the air with his finger. "Do not diss."

"Don't hate," said Denic. "Appreciate."

She also clapped her hands together. With an audible smile she said: "You wanna impress Baze here? Let me tell you, winning against my time is gonna be hard. Bring 'im a full pint."

"Hmm, is that so?" said Chirrut. "Bring it on. I wanna know if you're all talk."

"More like if _you're_ all talk," Denic retorted.

Baze lifted an inquisitive eyebrow when Chirrut received the filled pint of beer. Was he doing this to impress the band fella, did he have just a competitive spirit? He sipped his own wine very charitably and made a grimace as the kick of the alcohol was felt. Chirrut would feel it soon even stronger.

Chirrut wrapped his fingers around the frosty pint glass. It was full and some of the foam had fallen from the rim, made the side of the glass wet and sticky. The sharp sting in the scent of beer made Chirrut grimace already at the thought of chugging it all down. But he had done it before at a student party and with Killi and Anakin and with friends he had spent gratifying long evenings with.

"Is anyone counting time?" he asked. "I'm ready to go already. Watch carefully before it disappears, you might miss it."

"I'm counting," said Kaya and snatched the phone from Denic's uncoordinated hands. It inspired a laughter from Baze. He patted Chirrut on his mid back, felt the fabric having dampened with sweat. Chirrut raised the glass high, then placed it against his chin. A hint of inked skin caught Baze's attention from under the shirt, away from the contest.

" _Aaaaaaand_... Go!"

As Kaya had said, Chirrut went, immediately. Baze only briefly observed the chugging progress. What intrigued him more was slowly being revealed from under the shirt. A dark outline of an orange and red symbol peeked from his lower back, his lower hip, and disappeared mostly beneath Chirrut's trousers. His jeans had a relatively low waist, so Baze could tell the symbol was that of the Rebel Alliance - or the symbol that the rebels had taken to their own use from ancient Jedhan literature.

The round symbol that reached up high with its prongs was revealed more as Chirrut emptied the glass, encouraging cheers from the crowd. As Chirrut's shirt rose, so did Baze's temperature, and sweat on his skin, and he attempted to down some of his wine. He saw the smooth, brown skin reveal itself and he could tell it was covered in peachy, light fuzz. The nook of his waist curved into the shape of his derriere, which was a lovely shape, admittedly. Round, firm, though Baze could not quite tell the exact shape yet. He wanted to lower the trousers enough to see the tattoo, and to determine the shape of Chirrut's ass.

Baze was not on Chirrut's mind while he emptied the glass. He closed his eyes and took in big sips, chugging each one down without caring about the time. The thought that he was too old for the activity crossed his thirty two years of young age. He took deep breaths through his nostrils and raised his hand up to give a big thumbs up to the roaring crowd. He didn't hear Baze's voice from there yet. He would have to win first.

The final sip came, went, went down, and Chirrut slammed the glass on the tale in front of him, opened his mouth and showed it around. Not much of the drink had spilled either, but Baze tapped his hip anyway and handed him a napkin, with which Chirrut wiped his chin and mouth and neck. A heavy feeling swelled in him, an upcoming hiccup or a loud belch, but he had to hear the results first.

"Well?" said Chirrut. Disappointment on Denic's face told Baze and every other onlooker everything.

"I concede defeat!" she dramatically declared. "I have been dethroned."

"How much?" Chirrut asked. He didn't feel like puking, exactly, but had to still focus on keeping everything down. Loud burps made their way up from the depths of his stomach and he kept them in to keep some of his cool demeanour. He naturally had no idea that Baze found it hard to keep his composure at all, for he had had a glimpse of Chirrut's firm lower back, and that his thirst for touch had been abruptly awakened.

"Like two seconds better," Denic said. "Congrats, you beat the drummer of your favourite band." She smiled, showing that she was not actually upset about the affair.

"It was a good..." Chirrut started, but hiccuped in the middle and got a reply from Denic's loud burp. The laughter the exchange caused overwhelmed Chirrut, or perhaps the beer's voltage did, but he had to sit down anyway and he leaned back to let himself sit back against Baze on the sofa.

One of his legs got tangled with his staff and the other with Baze's leg. Baze managed to place his glass on the table before Chirrut landed on the sofa a lot more heavily than he had planned, and Baze noticed it early enough. To ensure Chirrut's safety he wrapped his arm around Chirrut's chest, to direct his landing to have a tad more grace than before.

"I could have hurt myself there," yelped Chirrut and made no move to remove the arm from around him.

"You're welcome," grunted Baze.

"Getting excited, Malbus?" Chirrut asked. Baze could have measured the depth of his smile creases from that proximity. He moved his arms back a bit.

"I'm sorry-"

"No, no, it's not like I mind." Chirrut nudged himself more against Baze's arms, his shoulder, the sofa, to make himself more comfortable. Were Baze able to pour himself more wine, he could have called this the most perfect place to be.

Baze Malbus was holding on to a very handsome man who had gotten more drunk perhaps just to impress him. Baze was not naive, and he had never in his life felt such instantaneous attraction towards anybody. It burned within like a flame, and when he felt Chirrut's warmth so closely against his own body, he felt it flare up inside. Alcohol fuelled some of it, and some of it got its fuel from his need for touch of any kind. Mostly Baze could have just admitted that this Chirrut was a good-looking person of the highest degree.

Chirrut could feel Baze's heartbeat through his shirt. It banged in Baze's chest like a bass drum.

"So, uh, Chirrut," said Baze and cleared his throat. "Are you going to burp for a long time now?"

"At least for the entire evening," said Chirrut and let out a quiet one as if to underline the stated response. "My stars, that was some carbonated beer you got here."

"I got here? It ain't my bar," said Baze and patted Chirrut's shoulder. Chirrut placed his hand on his own chest.

"Well, to me this bar is the bar of _The Whills_. You think I got anything else to do here than to come listen to you guys play?"

"Apparently also conquer our drummer in a beer chugging competition. You didn't strike me as a drinker. At all."

"You make me sound like a drunkard." Chirrut burped much more loudly now. "Geez, I need to get these out of the way..."

"You drank that beer like it was water."

"Do you know how hard it is to drink a pint of water like that? Wouldn't recommend."

"Point taken," Baze said. "Will you hand me my wine from the table?"

"Where did you put it?"

"The left corner. I could finish my glass before anything else."

"Anything else? Got something planned, Malbus?"

"I'm not a plans type of a man. I prefer to kind of improvise on nights like this."

"Nights like this? Do you ever impro on stage, then?"

"If the bass player improvises too much, the rhythm section might go to shambles."

"You're proud of your work, aren't you?" Chirrut asked. Baze eyed the wine glass and eyed the rosy cheeks of his beer-chugging companion.

"Of course I am."

"Do you think bass players are appreciated enough? 'Cos I don't." Chirrut waved his hand in the air and took a moment to burp as quietly and discreetly as possible.

"What do you mean appreciated? Also, hand me the wine, will ya." Chirrut did not obey, but poked Baze's chest instead.

"Guitarists tend to be more loved. And singers."

"More loved? What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean guitar is considered sexier or something." Words bubbled out of Chirrut's mouth in a way that they formed borderline inappropriate sentences. His hand did not escape from Baze's chest, but as the pint of beer coursed through him, he dared to lay his entire palm on the warm chest.

"Really now," muttered Baze. Chirrut did not feel how Baze shivered under the touch, but instead could feel the softness of his skin, the chub on his chest, the manly overall feel of Baze Malbus.

"What do you think, then?" asked Baze. He decided to forget about the wine.

"Me? Obviously I disagree."

"You don't think Kaya's sexy?"

"Objectively, probably yes. But answering the question as a homosexual? No, she's not."

"As a bisexual I can say that she is very hot," Baze concluded.

"How demeaning," Chirrut said. He placed a hand dramatically on his chest. It drew Baze's attention unmistakably to his pectoral muscles.

"It's okay," Baze said. "I know she'd say something similar about me, too."

"I think the bass is very sexy." Chirrut barely recovered from the shock of having gotten away with calling Baze Malbus sexy right there, in front of him, saying it to his face. A boyish giggle escaped his lips when he continued: "Tell me, Malbus..."

"Yes?"

"Did you ever think of all the puns that come with your given name and your chosen instrument?"

"I do not think of puns often, no."

"If Baze plays bass..." Chirrut said and rubbed his chin. His lids had lowered to a half-lidded position, he looked very thoughtful, even wise. "Who plays Baze?"

Baze snorted. "Been a while since I last heard that one."

"Really? I'd think you only hear that at least once a day."

"I guess I don't surround myself with punny people."

"You're starting right now. Here I am, not only your new beer-chugging champion, but also a punny fan who loves the way you play your underappreciated instrument."

"Do you like me playing the acoustic guitar?"

"Naturally, but I prefer heavier sounds to acoustics."

"Out of curiosity," said Baze and pulled Chirrut a bit closer. Chirrut moved a bit around to make his seated position more comfortable. "Do you play any instruments?"

"No. I sing, though, sometimes. Religious hymns."

"I like you already."

"Telling your huge fan that you like him is a huge thing to do."

"What's there to not like? You're fun, good-looking, you hold your alcohol, you appreciate my music..."

"You think I'm good-looking?" asked Chirrut.

"Was that out of line?" Baze asked in return. He did not wish to make Chirrut uncomfortable.

"Not at all. You're just feeding my ego, is all."

"You're feeding  _my_ ego all evening with all these kind words."

"You're a musician, I'd think your ego is already big. It doesn't need any feeding."

"I may be too drunk to get hurt by that."

"Really?" exclaimed Chirrut. "It wasn't supposed to be hurtful, I'm sorry."

Baze shook his head and pressed a finger briefly, but commandingly, on Chirrut's lips. Chirrut had a lovely heart-shaped mouth, and his lips were plump and red, blushed like the rest of his face in the heat and intoxication of the backstage party. Chirrut parted his lips at the touch, and for a hot second, neither of them heard anything else.

Chirrut's eyes moved to where he felt Baze's breathing coming from. Baze lowered his hand and replaced it with his gaze. He looked greedily at the curved lips, the shape of the upper lip and the plumpness of the lower, the white teeth revealed from behind them when the lips parted. Attraction was apparent, it overwhelmed their senses in the form of a flush of the cheeks, as an odd tingling in their nether parts, a cold sensation by their fingertips. Neither were sure if the other one also felt it, neither wanted to overstep their boundaries.

Baze glanced around and tried to determine how closely he was being watched. Chirrut wanted to pull him closer but hesitated, decided to let Baze Malbus decide their pace. Of course, it would help to voice his eagerness fo touch, but the idea of rejection stopped him.

"How do you feel about public kisses?" asked Baze, immediately wondering if he could have worded it more smoothly. He also mumbled more quietly than he had intended, resulting in Chirrut leaning closer.

"What did you..?"

"I asked how you feel about..."

"...about public kisses," Chirrut concluded. He had processed the entire sentence while Baze repeated it. "Is this really so public though?"

"Here?"

"Yeah."

Chirrut, thus, confirmed that he had gotten the idea. He bit his lip and let the atmosphere of the situation take him. He let Baze's warmth pull him and let it surround him. The heat of the moment rose to higher degrees, into temperatures unbearable alone, without feeling the burn together with someone.

Baze closed in, stopped an inch before locking lips. He gave Chirrut the room and the possibility to back down, but instead he got a nod of consent from him, and Chirrut himself closed the remaining gap between their lips.

Baze closed his eyes and kissed Chirrut. He caressed Chirrut's lips and held him close, like his own. Their hearts raced and sang songs of excitement, straight into their veins. Chirrut let his mouth open and he wrapped his arms around Baze, his neck and his waist, but brought the hand back to Baze's chest, pressed it and sighed into the kiss, nibbled at Baze's lower lip. Baze deepened the kiss as he had been invited to do. Shallow smooches were quickly over.

Chirrut pushed forward into the kiss and let it spin himself around. He let Baze and Baze's kisses take a hold of him as he took a hold of what was under Baze's shirt, a good amount of chest chub, and his fingernails clawed at the fabric. Baze was simultaneously hard and soft, suave and rough, and his touch was nothing short of gentlemanly. Chirrut trusted that he would not be touched where he did not want to, in a way he did not want to, and he smiled into the kiss, nibbled at the lip again. Baze's hand slid to the back of Chirrut's head and caressed his scalp, pulled him more into the kiss, held on securely and firmly.

And how tight he held indeed. Baze found himself desiring to melt into the kisses. They had known one another perhaps for two hours all in all, Baze did not even know what Chirrut Îmwe did for a living. But he knew for certain that he wanted this man, and he could have described his need as desperate. Chirrut pulled him, physically and magnetically, and as the fan sank into the back rest Baze found himself pushing Chirrut into it, against it. One of his hands found Chirruts shoulder and he grabbed it, inspiring a whimper against his lips.

Baze pulled back immediately. "You okay?" he asked. Chirrut did not even bother to open his eyes - he merely nodded.

"Don't worry," he said. Of course, Chirrut was pleased with how eagerly Baze had pulled away. Baze turned out to be a responsive man, not selfish or bound from discretion by arousal.

"I just like being held tight." Chirrut giggled right after having confessed it. He wanted to lie down with Baze on top of him, maybe pull off his shirt and feel him all over, to get to know every corner of his soft, warm body.

"You comfortable?" Baze asked and laid a lazy smooch on Chirrut's trembling lips.

"Oh, very. The sofa's soft."

"Do you wanna continue?"

"Do you?" Chirrut asked in return. "Even though I probably taste like beer." What he did not want now was too much rational thinking, too much hesitation. He tightened his grip of Baze.

"Hell yeah I do," said Baze and locked their lips again. He forgot the music, the talking, the possible stares, only focused on Chirrut's scent and heat and heavy breathing and the lust the flavour of which intoxicated him nearly more than any portions of wine could have. They both were glad they wore loose pants - both of them felt a burning in their lower parts, a burning that caused swelling and soaking wetness, erectness, sensitivity. Chirrut lifted his hips instinctively upwards, felt his own trousers rub against him and he moaned.

An image of himself sinking in-between Baze's legs flashed before his eyes, and even though he wanted to be present in the moment, he couldn't but further imagine the scenario. Spreading Baze's legs and enclosing whatever he had between them between his greedy lips, letting his tongue wander and investigate...

He pushed against Baze's lips with his tongue, knocking on the door. Baze followed suit, and when their tongues met, sparks flew in their nerves. Baze pushed himself harder against Chirrut, as if attempting to melt into him as their tongues met in a heated, wet embrace. Chirrut's mouth was hot, Baze's beard tickled a bit and from time to time Chirrut had to smile at the novel sensation. He opened his mouth more and attempted to wrap his tongue around Baze's. They twirled around one another in a lustful dance. A taste of mixed alcohols was shared, Baze had a flavour of some vapour in his breath, a taste of wine and sweat.

A drop of saliva fell from the corner of Baze's mouth. Their teeth collided once, twice, in passion, but they didn't mind it. Adults as they were, especially drunken adults, a bit of clumsiness was just a sign of needing adjustment. They pulled back their tongues to kiss more with their wet lips. Baze pulled back to take a breather.

Then, Baze became aware of his surroundings. He, again, remembered where he was. The throbbing in his crotch was very inappropriate for the situation. He kissed Chirrut once more and while still kissing him, he pulled Chirrut to an upright position on the sofa. The leather squeaked as they adjusted themselves. Chirrut chuckled and wiped his mouth in his forearm.

"That was, uh, quite something," he mumbled. His face was as red as the red stage lights.

"Yeah, Baze nearly ate your face," remarked Denic from across the room. Chirrut felt most blissfully as if he _had_ been devoured.

* * *

The bustle of the bar was left behind. Chirrut could swear that the world spun around him, but he was securely attached to reality in the form of Baze Malbus's arm. He was not drunk as much as he thought he would have been after the amount of consumed alcohol. He listened around the busy sounds of the city and nudged his chin upwards. Baze was taller than him, vigilantly looking for a certain car.

"Thanks for calling the taxi," Chirrut said. They stood in front of the club in the cold Jedhan air, Chirrut tucked his chin deeper into his scarf. Baze looked at the neon lights and kept Chirrut close, but let go of his arm as they had stopped walking.

"I'll pay it for you too," Baze said. Cold was good for his burning cheeks, the sweat on his neck and forehead.

"Oh, so paying back for my services?" Chirrut said and poked Baze's arm. He looked adorable in his long cape that acted well as a deterrent of the evening cold.

"No, I'm just nice like that."

"Like I know I'm good, but you don't have to pay back. Doing things is often reward in itself," said Chirrut in a tone that was surprisingly serious.

"Will you come to the gig next weekend?" asked Baze.

"It's not here, is it?"

"No, but not that far away."

"I always have to think twice about going to new places alone," said Chirrut. He heard a car approaching, and Baze knew it was his taxi.

"I'd love to see you there," Baze said. The taxi curved to the street and Baze greeted the driver. He opened the door for Chirrut and helped him sit down, felt a sting in his heart as he leaned to the door frame to say goodbye.

"It's not sold out," he said. "Do consider."

"I will." Chirrut's smile seemed to light up the entire evening.

"Good night, Chirrut."

"Night night, Malbus. May the Force be with you."

"As with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is my crush on Donnie Yen 100% clear yet... also note that Chirrut's tattoo placement is the same as Donnie Yen's tattoo placement!


	3. Fire & Fighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chirrut attends a concert out of town once again. A surprising turn of events drives the audience out of the venue. After the gig, Baze escorts Chirrut to the hotel, and their urban night walk is also interrupted. Disruption seems to the the theme of the evening.

_We walk this earth_  
_With fire in our hands_  
_Eye for an eye_  
_We are nemeses_  
_We are with you_  
_On this vicious, oh_  
_Fight, fighting for freedom_  
_United, we stand, we stand_

 

* * *

 

  
Going out of town after  _The Whills_ was not exactly a new experience for Chirrut who was used to gigs only at his home town in Jedha. Going to a new town was an adventure of its own right every time for someone like Chirrut who needed his surroundings to be familiar. Lucky for him, the towns where he went always had friends he could stay over with. Often all he needed was good directions, a taxi and the rest was taken care of by his social nature. There was always someone capable and willing to help him to the bar seat or to the middle of the audience where he could safely lean to the fence around the mixing table. And as he had no need for a front row place, he could come to the venue at his own leisure. He didn't need to worry about queuing, and as he had the tour shirt already, he didn't have to find the merch table either.

Two gigs ago he had talked with Baze Malbus again. Baze had come to him after the gig and asked him if he needed anything, like water or something. And since the band mostly played in bar venues - not concert halls - Chirrut had already found the bar seat and had laughed with Baze that a man like Chirrut would always find something to drink. They had spent some time backstage, talking more than being close. They had talked about the political situation, discussed the war and kept on complaining about the state of the establishment all in all. How the Republic did not care to suppress the Imperials enough, how those punks flooded the streets, still, and how they both felt frustration over the fact.

"I'm always worried of the kid I take care of, Bodhi," had Baze said and shrugged.

"Your kid?"

"He's eighteen, so not a kid. But guess I'm kind of a dad figure to him."

"Really now?" Chirrut had asked. Baze had told Chirrut about Bodhi, who he worried about greatly. He wanted to always do his best, but Baze did not want him to end up in trouble. And the way he had talked about Bodhi had felt like a warm candle, sharing its life in Chirrut's heart. A new, though not unexpected, trait had emerged from Baze Malbus that evening - he _cared_. And not only that, but he cared _deeply_.

Chirrut could sense how he sank deeper into Baze Malbus' voice every time he talked. It was a pleasant thing to be surrounded by.

Two gigs later from that conversation, Chirrut had travelled to a town that was a two hour bus ride away from his home. He had checked in his hotel and found the gig venue with ease. He ordered a drink, listened to the warm-up band, chatted with the bar tender and introduced himself as a travelling fan. He discussed the previous gigs, talked about their music, felt the one beer bubble inside of him pleasantly. That night he left it at one beer. After the warm-up band was over, he went to the toilet, came back, and ordered a tall pint of water.

Baze Malbus stepped on stage and sang the opening lines of _Sky High_. His fingertips played the riffs with routine and his lyrics came out automatically. He glanced down at the front row people and smiled to the familiar faces. Rush of the performance pushed sweat up to his skin immediately, even after one half of a song. He opened his eyes fully to run their gaze across the venue, to the bar counter in particular. A smile tugged the corners of his lips and the smile became audible. He saw Chirrut Îmwe in the audience, just like he had earlier, many times before. It made his heart flutter with anticipation. Usually he lived in the moment and hoped for the moment to last, but now he found himself hoping for a quick gig so he could slide to the bar through the audience, to chat Chirrut up.

Usually, his gaze would wander emptily through the audience, he would make eye contact only sometimes. Tonight, he only kept on coming back to Chirrut, his short hair and smiling lips and dark band shirt and _goodness_ , his smile. He had lips that curved into a bright smile that revealed his teeth, and Chirrut enjoyed the music so much that he smiled throughout the opening song of the gig. And the smile, it was that of the contagious kind.

Somewhere between Chirrut and Baze was the mixing table. By the table was a woman who looked around her with great haste and searched for the look of Baze's eyes, for his attention. She gestured wildly with her hands, made an X sign with her arms. Baze's heart sank and worry took over his mind as he ceased his singing.

"Stop, stop, stop," he said. The woman pointed upwards - it was a sign that Baze knew. And as Kaya, Silvanie and Denic took the hint and stopped playing, a whole new sound filled the air. A loud ringing hurt their ears and a couple of security guards gestured towards the door.

"I will have to ask all of you to exit the premises," Baze said and took the bass guitar off of his shoulder. "This is not a drill. Stay calm. A fire brigade has been called in, and they have to have the building empty until they have made sure where the smoke is coming from, or something. Bottom line is, we gotta get the hell outta here."

He instinctively looked to the direction of Chirrut. A security guard talked to him briefly, and the bar tender nodded a few times and accompanied him as a swarm of slowly walking people calmly advanced towards the entrance. The venue was upstairs this time, so they had to descend a flight of stairs to the ground floor. A security guard came to the band and watched as Baze and his bandmates descended from the stage and, together with the annoyed first row fans, started their journey outside.

The mass of people grumbled and showed their annoyance sometimes to the innocent security guards. Luckily, the evening was benign to the people. No snow or rain bothered them, but as nobody was allowed to get their coats while the firemen went inside to investigate, a lot of the people shivered with cold. Baze felt the cold air meet with his sweaty skin and he wrapped his arms tightly around himself. He and the band zigzagged their way through the mass of people to the fire truck, and congregated there.

"This fucking sucks," said Denic. "Didn't even manage to grab my cigarettes."

"How long do we have to wait?" asked Baze. Kaya laughed.

"Knowing our luck, it'll take 'em half an hour for them to discover that it was just some dipshit smoking in the ladies' room."

" _Smokin' in the boys' room_ ," mumbled Baze to a song that started playing in his head.

" _Everybody knows that smokin' ain't allowed in school_ ," Silvanie sang playfully.

Truthfully, the situation pissed Baze off. He looked grumpy most of the time anyway. This delay, if it was just a delay and no grounds for cancellation, would push their gig later into the night. That meant less sleep, travelling with more tired eyes, and of course it meant less time spent backstage, relaxing with his friends. Baze would have texted Bodhi, but had not taken his phone as they'd escaped the building. No one had been allowed to fetch anything - no coats, no phones, no drinks.

"Malbus," a familiar voice called. Baze turned around and saw Chirrut, leaning to the wall near the fire truck, no doubt having heard Baze's voice from the chattering crowd. Baze smiled and turned fully to him, gestured to the band that he would move away for a bit, and walked to Chirrut. He had been chatting with the bar tender, so Baze greeted her as well.

"Nice evening," said Chirrut and snorted. "I hope nothing's in flames."

"It's probably just cigarette smoke or something," Baze said. He dug his hands in his jean pockets. A gentle feeling tickled the bottom of his heart as he observed the expressions on Chirrut's face, the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes and the fluffy strands of hair.

"So just someone being a bag of dicks?"

"Basically. We'll be back in soon, I'd hope."

"Will you shorten the set?" asked Chirrut with a sad undertone. A theatrical pout accompanied the question. Baze shrugged, and the sigh let out got Chirrut to sigh as well.

"It entirely depends... I don't _wanna_ ,  _we_ don't wanna."

"It'd be a shame." Chirrut rolled his blue eyes. "But can't be helped, I guess."

"How've you been otherwise?" asked Baze. "You've been travelling a lot."

"I got work during the week and gigs on the weekends," Chirrut said. "The life..."

"Where do you work?" asked Baze and twirled the tip of his moustache between his fingertips, then smoothened it against his upper lip. "I don't think I've ever asked you that."

"I teach," Chirrut said. "At the university, actually."

"What do you teach?" Baze asked. "I wouldn't have guessed that you're a teacher."

"Why?" asked Chirrut. "Do I not strike you as an academic?"

"Academic, huh," Baze said.

"I teach Jedhan theology," said Chirrut. He straightened his back, seemed proud of his profession.

"Jedhan theology? You're a professor?"

"Not a professor. I'm a lecturer." Chirrut shrugged. "Someone has got to keep the tradition running, pass it down."

The temple of the Whills was still in existence of course. A lot of the materials in it had been stolen, destroyed and burned by the Federation during the war, and Baze recalled the days he'd spent there, tripping the Federation punks up as best as he could have. And when the Federation was gone, it was the pro-Imperials. Looking at Chirrut, he felt gratitude about his chosen profession.

"The Force is good," said Chirrut and tapped the ground with his staff. "I don't like indoctrinating, but I like educating people."

"Do you have a lot of students?" asked Baze. He wrapped his arms around himself and blew air out through his pursed lips.

"Quite a lot. People most of the time wanna know how to _use_ the Force."

" _Use_ the Force?" Baze scoffed. "It's like asking how to manipulate atoms by will."

"People wanna know how to use things before they can even acknowledge the full extent of their existence," Chirrut sighed. "It's a shame, really. Though you and  _The Whills_  seem to get it."

"You get the feeling? Because it's true."

In the outside air and street lights, Chirrut looked a bit different from smokey indoors. The cold had forced a blush to his cheeks and his smile had a more aged, mature look to it when Baze could trace his gaze along the creases better. He knew they were of the same age, more or less, but oddly enough he felt like he looked far older than Chirrut did. Chirrut had wrinkles, but Baze had also grey in his hair, despite being only around thirty years of age.

"So I have an academic friend in you," Baze said. "I guess you read a lot, then."

"I prefer moving and teaching to reading, honestly."

"Moving?"

"You know _zama-shiwo_?"

"The ancient fighting style?"

"Yes. Jedhan martial arts. I do that..." Chirrut's eyes wandered for a moment, before he continued: "...occasionally."

Chirrut did want to impress Baze. In a way, he knew he already had, by revealing that he was a teacher of a religion they both swore by. He did not know what kind of things exactly would impress a gruff man like Baze, but whatever it was, Chirrut wanted to find it out and use it to end up on the sofa once again with the bassist.

"Cool," said Baze. "Like, honestly."

Cool was Chirrut not only in looks and essence, but he also shivered in it. He wrapped his arms around himself at a futile attempt of getting warm. Baze looked at Denic and Kaya who were having their photo taken with some fans by Silvanie in front of the fire truck, completely focused on that. The he looked back at Chirrut.

"Are you cold?"

"It's just above freezing in here," Chirrut said. "So, kind of."

"I don't have a coat for you," Baze grumbled, dissatisfied with his ability to help.

"No one does. Warm me up with yourself," Chirrut said in jest. It lit a light bulb in Baze's head.

"I could." Because why not? It caught Chirrut by surprise. Would he really? He heard Baze's footsteps approach, and have no sign of backing off. Baze still asked if it was alright with him.

"Yeah," Chirrut said. "Absolutely."

The desire he had for being close to Baze could not have been expressed properly in its totality, and it was not audible from the casually expressed consent. His breath hitched in his throat when Baze's scent came over him, when his strong arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him closer. Baze's speech came from above - he was a lot taller, as Chirrut once again remembered.

"Better?" Baze asked. Chirrut heard a smile from his voice.

"Yeah. You're warm."

Baze's bare arms, despite the cold, were heated. Skin against skin calmed his shivers down, and as he relaxed he only then noticed he had been keeping his shoulders up, almost against his ears. Warmth spread in him comfortably - not the same way it had when they had spent that one evening on the sofa, but in a way that beckoned Chirrut even more. A warmth that beckoned him to stay, to calm down after a day of restlessness. His heart, of course, disagreed a little bit, keeping its pace at a steady race, reminding him that he had feelings, strong feelings, brewing in the warmth of the bass player who had a smoky voice and a manly scent about him.

"Life is strange, isn't it?" Chirrut asked.

"Is it?"

"One moment I'm enjoying your music from my loudspeakers at home," Chirrut said and lifted his chin, turning his face to Baze's direction. "The other, I'm warming myself up in your arms after your gig was interrupted."

"Let's just call this an intermission, not an interruption." Baze's laughter was as warm as a summer breeze, though it ushered more shivers to Chirrut's body.

"Let's hope it won't last too long," Chirrut said. He dared himself to lean on to Baze. He wanted to place his head to where Baze's shoulder met with his chest, that little nook that on anybody was the perfect place to rest. The same way he had dreamt of after their first chat while taking a photo, he dreamt of fully leaning on to Baze Malbus now. Baze, as well, wanted for the moment to last a bit longer. He had places to be, mainly on stage, but he felt terrible when realising that he would have to eventually let go. He would keep his eye on Chirrut while on stage, of course, but they would be apart.

"I like you, Chirrut," Baze said, encouraged by the adrenaline in his veins.

"I kind of got that impression," Chirrut said. "Why?"

"You're a chill guy," Baze said. Chirrut snorted at the short and concise answer. He did not know what he had expected.

"Will you stay for some time after the gig?" Baze asked.

"I gotta get to the hotel, been up all day," Chirrut said. "I'm sor-"

"I can walk you to the hotel, then," Baze said. "Don't apologize."

"I thought of taking a taxi, but if you insist..."

"How far is it?"

"Like a twenty minute walk."

"What do you say about a nightly 20 minute walk, then?" Baze asked and shook Chirrut a little, inspiring a smile to appear on his lips. His lips were redder than they had been indoors - the colour accompanied his rosy cheeks nicely.

"I'd love-"

His agreement drowned in the group of people starting to flow towards the venue door. Chirrut turned his head around to get a better grasp of the situation, but Baze nudged him reassuringly.

"Wanna listen to the gig up close?"

"Up close?" repeated Chirrut. "Usually I stay away from the front of the stage."

"How about next to it?" Baze asked. "There should be a seat for you, too."

"That's huge. You're making every other fan jealous."

"We're gonna go for a walk. I'm making sure you don't want to chicken out."

Chirrut laughed as they began walking towards the door. All felt unreal.

* * *

Watching Chirrut sit down by the side of the stage brought Baze satisfaction that he showed through a smile. The band climbed up to the stage and made sure everything was back in check. Baze set the bass guitar back around his neck and inspected the audience, determined that the influx of returning people had ended. The people by the mixing table gave him the thumbs up and Baze nodded as a sign of acknowledgement. He made sure Silvanie, Denic and Kaya were positioned, gave Chirrut's direction one more glance, then stepped to the mic.

"Alright, alright," he said, making sure that it was on. "After that explosive start we might wanna continue, right?" Baze said and looked at the front row fans who yelled a good question to him.

"Oh yeah, we were informed that this was caused by someone _smokin' in the boys' room_ ," Baze said and twirled his pick in his fingertips. He shook his head. "Kaya, what do you think about that?"

"A dick move, honestly," she said into the mic. People clapped in agreement.

"Dicks aren't gonna stop us," said Baze and glanced down at the set list taped to the floor in front of them. "We're gonna play a full set for you tonight, but that means less party time for you after. Are you okay with that?"

Baze nodded in satisfied agreement as the audience roared its unanimous _YES_.

"Good, very good. Let's try our start again. You remember what we're starting with."

The bass riff of  _Battlefield_  got the audience roaring. Denic clapped the rhythm of the song with drum sticks - one, two, and one two three four. The concert was back on track, and the heat of the stage lights swept every attendee with them.

Chirrut on the sidelines found that the sounds of the music were a bit skewed to the bass side of the songs, but he did not find it bothersome. He sipped from the bottle of water Baze had assigned him with and adjusted his ear plugs. As the song changed to the next, he stood up from his seat to jam along, and he felt safe in a spot with close to no people present. A stage technician, and no more than that. He could dance to the music, let it flow through him and let it make him flow. Even though he was no good dancer, the disco beat of some songs did not fail to make him lift his feet in the rhythmic melodies. Again, the set list did not include _The Guardian_ , but did have most of his favourite songs. And since the sound quality was not the best in his spot to begin with, he sang along to all lyrics he knew.

He finally sat down after a few songs and swayed left and right in his seat, let himself sink into the music as if nobody was looking. He felt no gazes on him, and even if he had, he would have only barely cared. Chances were that nobody  _was_ looking, that he existed in a vacuum where no one heard him, where he heard nothing but the music and no one had their eyes on him. It was a good place to be. A good place for the moment, for the one hour thirty minutes of nothing but musical bliss.

When the audience clapped the encore, Baze stepped down from the stage to Chirrut's side and took a swig of water. The musky scent of his sweat and everything else about him told Chirrut that he was in close proximity.

"Well? Is it time for _Tequila Sunrise_?" Chirrut yelled through the applause.

"I'm not even a huge fan of the drink but Kaya loves it," Baze revealed. It had no resigned bitterness, just a matter-of-factly tone.

"Do you like the song?" Chirrut asked.

"As long as y'all like it, I like it," Baze said. "Your opinion is mine, or more important than mine."

"So where's _The Guardian_?" Chirrut asked playfully.

"Up your ass, Îmwe." They exchanged laughter and Baze left for the stage again, responded to the call of the rock 'n' roll crowd. He announced the name of the song, _Tequila Sunrise_ , and it got Chirrut craving for the said drink. Maybe they would enjoy some, before leaving for the hotel.

* * *

"Somehow it's not as cold as earlier," said Chirrut and wrapped his long, drapey coat around himself. When he exhaled, a cloud of vapour appeared, showing Baze exactly how cold it was. He dug his hands in his jean pockets. The sleeves of his leather coat whined gently against the short coat hem. Chirrut was right - it was not as cold as it had been during the fire alarm, and it wasn't only because they now wore adequate clothes. The sky was overcast, the stars weren't visible, and the street lights looked pale and forgiving, making the floor of the streets glisten, in the stead of the sky.

"So, I guess your hotel's this way?" said Baze and stepped to the direction he meant. Chirrut placed the tip of his staff against the asphalt and tapped it a couple of times.

"I assume so. I came with a taxi from that direction."

"Phenomenal memory."

They began walking slowly on the damp asphalt. Their shadows were cast in a way that they became multiples when they were in-between two street lamps, the shadows accompanied them on the left side. The air was still, the city had a fresh scent at two in the morning.

"I have to have a good memory."

"Obviously."

"But thank you anyway."

Baze could not but pay attention to how heavy the staff looked to him. Chirrut tapped the asphalt sometimes, most of the time moved the staff above the surface, left and right, careful to not trip Baze. It was made of full wood, and it had a metallic handle. Most blind people Baze could think of had a plastic, thin, pretty light stick or a staff, some of them had a little ball at the end of them. He decided against asking. For all he knew, he could have only been imprisoned by stereotypes.

"Thanks for, uh, having me at the side of the stage," said Chirrut a tad sheepishly. "It was fun."

"I was happy to see you have fun," Baze chuckled. "Though we did not play _The Guardian_."

"I forgive you, again, this time." Chirrut tried to not walk too close, but their arms kept on brushing.

"I got so much more tonight, didn't I?"

"I guess you did."

"I wanna ask the inevitable question," said Chirrut.

"Go ahead. As long as it ain't about our set list."

"I would never bring it up and I never have."

Baze snorted.

"No, I want to know if you ever escorted another fan home like this," continued Chirrut.

"It's not that much of an obvious question." Baze had expected something like that, but maybe more from himself.  _Had_ he ever been so close to a fan - or anyone, for that matter?

"Will you answer it, or will you leave it for me to figure out?" Chirrut asked.

"What do you think?" Baze asked in return.

"Something's telling me a clear _no_. You're not very smooth, most of the time."

"I could be _not smooth_ with anyone, Îmwe."

"Sure. I just like to feel special."

Baze snorted again. This was a trait he had noticed. While Chirrut did not necessarily enjoy being the centre of attention, he did like some attention, he liked doing things that warranted it. Perhaps he sought for Baze's attention specifically.

"I haven't walked anyone to their hotel in a while. I did walk my, hmm, ward of sorts home last week."

"Bodhi?"

"Yeah. The war orphan."

Sorrow created shadows on Chirrut's face. "Oh no."

"He doesn't like walking home alone because of Imperials and other hoodlums. He's spent a lot of time with me ever since he was a kid." Baze shrugged. "Guess I'm a father figure of sorts."

"It suits you. How old was he again?"

"Eighteen," Baze said and felt pride swell in his chest. "He's studying to be a Alliance pilot."

"Admirable. I hope his studies are going well." Chirrut smiled again. They took a turn to a street that felt odd to Chirrut, in his mind more than physically. He slowed down.

"He's advancing nicely and should graduate in two years or so from the academy," Baze said.

Chirrut did not bestow a reply to an issue that earlier had him so interested. Baze did not notice him slow down until a few more steps that he took. He turned around to ask Chirrut what had happened, if he needed help or if for some reason he had noticed they were headed to the wrong direction. This, however, was not the case, for Baze knew this particular town very well. Chirrut squinted his eyes and heard a rustling sound from his left. For a brief moment, he saw a flash of the stamp his surroundings had on the Force, and evaded a hit.

He evaded it before Baze saw it. Two people clad all in white attacked Chirrut from both left and right and attempted to take a hold of him, no doubt to rob him or mug him. Baze could distinguish the round Imperial symbol from their arm band, and he knew this to be one unlucky day to not take his illegal blaster with him. However, before he could do anything, before the two assailants could grab a hold, Chirrut was on them like a hurricane.

The metal end of the staff landed on one of their faces and with a twirling motion Chirrut was behind the other, swished the staff in front of the assailant and locked him between himself and the staff. With a swift kick to the lower back and then to the back of the knees Chirrut landed the man to the ground and sealed him with a hit in the back of the neck.

"Left!" Baze yelled as the other attacker had recovered from the earlier blow. Chirrut took the hint and moved the staff to the left. The assailant took a hold of the staff, but this did sit right with Chirrut. He reprimanded the assailant with a sharp blow of the elbow to the face.

When Baze watched Chirrut move with such unforeseen confidence, he had no doubts about who would win. The long cape flapped and made Chirrut seem like a mirage, a human storm leaving nothing intact in its path. Baze admired what he saw. Time took a slower pace, and every swift movement left Baze in awe. He had not imagined such a thing from Chirrut, the theology lecturer. Not in a million spins around their star.

A pathetic groan from the side of the assailants sealed the interaction. Chirrut listened carefully for any more movements from their side. Only pained breathing and whimpering came, leaving Chirrut to the conclusion that he had caused no concussions. He got startled, admittedly, by Baze's sudden movement towards him, but met him by walking towards him also.

"You have a way with Imperials," Baze said. Chirrut chuckled through his barely accelerated breathing. He wiped his forehead to his loose sleeve, leaned to his staff. Baze patted his shoulder and walked to the two now so pitiful figures lying on the asphalt, humiliated and hurt. Blood from their noses glistened on the pavement. Baze grouched between them.

"Let that be the last time y'all attack anybody in here," said Baze. "These streets are not for you racist punks."

"Fuck off," said the other one and spat out a mix of saliva and blood. Baze laughed in their faces.

"With pleasure. I'm not the one who has to lie down for a while after getting beaten up, despite having the upper hand of two versus one." Baze straightened himself and spat on one of the assailants.

"Good night, fuckos."

Chirrut took Baze's arm instinctively as they walked away. The sudden burst of movement ached in his muscles, but took away some of the exhaustion he felt. For a moment they had a swifter pace than before, but after turning around the corner, they slowed down again.

This was when Baze asked: "You okay?"

"Never been better. Beating an Imperial a day keeps the doctor away, or something."

"Do you need a doctor?"

"Did I keep them away?"

"You keep them away like a professional." Baze shook his head. "You're a fighter."

"Ancient Jedhan _zama-shiwo_ , like I told you."

"I'm more and more convinced that you  _are_  an ancient Jedhan, Chirrut Îmwe."

"Maybe I got a fan out of you," said Chirrut. "That'd flatter me greatly."

"You just saved our asses from those fascist fucks. Usually I have a gun with me."

"Now you had me instead."

"I'll remember to always either have you or a gun."

Chirrut solemnly nodded. "You won't see me opposing that."

When the hotel was right in front of them across the street, Baze informed Chirrut of this and they hopped across the street, not minding where the actual legal crossing was. The hotel was a small one, good enough for gig trips and one night stays. Baze didn't feel bad about leaving him there.

"I had a great time," Chirrut said. Baze didn't know whether the blush was a result of the fight or something else entirely.

"Me too," he said in return. He pressed a hand on Chirrut's shoulder. Chirrut lifted his chin and thus encouraged Baze to bend forward.

Chirrut did not move away, only parted his lips.

Their good night kiss felt like a first one, exciting and fresh, light as a feather.

"Good night, Chirrut," whispered Baze.

"Night night, Baze Malbus."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Baze and Silvanie refer to is Mötley Crüe's _Smokin' in the Boys' Room_.
> 
> Earlier this year I attended a gig where during the first warm-up band's first two songs the fire alarm went off. The group I was in walked to the entrance really slowly because we were in the front row, and didn't want to lose our spot. We did not lose the spot in the end - when the emergency was deemed to be nothing too serious, we ran right back inside and got back to the front row. I still am not sure what caused the alarm, but the gigs continued normally after some standing outside in the cold.
> 
> Next chapter is NSFW!


	4. Hormones & Harmonies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a heated performance, Baze ends up in his hotel room with Chirrut. The two, finally, have their hands on one another's bare skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're subscribed to this story from earlier, PLEASE have a look at the updated tag list of the story before reading! This is a full-on smut chapter. Not safe for work at all.

_Then one night as I walked_  
_I heard your body talk_  
_I saw a shooting star_  
_In some magnetic trance_  
_Our beating hearts would dance_  
_And crash down from afar_  
_Oh how strange fate is_  
_Never dreamed of this_

 

* * *

  
_The Whills_  did not have many sexually loaded songs. Some of their tracks had a party vibe to them like  _Tequila Sunrise_  did, some of them celebrated life's other hedonistic pleasures, and some of them had the tendency of making people in the club dance like wild animals. But as the gigs stacked up, one song in particular started to get the other band members' attention. Sure, Kaya liked to sing her growling background vocals to it when Denic was looking, but never had Baze so keenly sung the lyrics with such conviction. Ever since Kaya had pointed out to Baze that Chirrut's face was very keenly in his direction during the song, and ever since Denic had noticed that Baze would unmistakably find Chirrut with his gaze during it, to him it had become Chirrut's song.

The song's title was _Cherry Lips_. Everyone with a brain knew that it was about lips of _all_ kinds, about cunnilingus and fellatio and French kisses and everything in-between. The song had a march-like rhythm, and during the intro, Baze and Kaya would rhythmically march as Denic's impeccable drumming ushered them forward. Then, an intricate guitar melody would take over, and Kaya would play it sensually and flirtily, with the instrument that was after all considered that of sex gods.

Baze, when he sang, pressed his lips very close to the metal grid of the microphone. He lowered his eyelids, let his eyes close for a moment as he played the more difficult bass line, then descended to the simplicity of the first verse. Kaya gave Baze a smirk before herself descending from a difficult riff to the background rhythm. They stopped their marching. Baze saw that Chirrut by the bar stopped clapping, now only tapped the bar counter, the space next to the pint of water he had. A chuckle escaped Baze's lips, it made many members of the audience smile.

" _Hey hey darlin' what you doin' to me_ ," Baze sang and locked his eyes with the sight of Chirrut Îmwe in the audience. Like he had before. A rush entirely separate from the rush of performing filled him. Chirrut wore all black that night.

" _You're having an effect on me you cannot see._ " Kaya's guitar revved an answer to the lyrics. Together they sang, Baze with deep clarity and Kaya with a screaming growl:

" _Cherry cherry lips lips keen on mine, sweeter than chocolate and better than wine._ " The audience joined with the titular sentence of the verse as the singers repeated it. Pictures of cherry patterns were cast on the back of the stage with a prompter.

" _But the effect that you have on me is not on my face, put your hands lower lower, put me in a daze..._ "

"A Baze daze!" Kaya yelled into his ear and caused a bout of laughter. He saw Chirrut laugh too. Baze rarely lost his composure on stage, and if he did, it had to be something like this.

" _Cherry cherry lips lips, hot like fire, going lower lower lower to eat up my desire._ " Baze laugh-sang the cheap rhyme and backed up from the mic for the instrumental part. Baze and Kaya faced one another and marched in the rhythm again, both of their faces framed with strands of long, dark hair.

"Just dedicate this song to Chirrut already," Kaya yelled.

"Only when you dedicate it to Denic," Baze said in return. Kaya nodded, and with laughter and dread Baze watched her approach her mic. The song dove into a quieter part before the second verse, and she announced:

"As far as I'm concerned, I'd like to dedicate this song to our drummer Denic."

Denic seemed not phased, and she responded to the dedication with a slam of the cymbal. A few more moments of silence from the singing department gave Baze the time to think of what to say, and then to say it:

"And I, Baze Malbus, dedicate this song to a certain someone whose favourite song still isn't on our set list, who teaches theology at the university, and whose name rhymes with uh... Uh..."

"Beer root?" Kaya suggested. Baze laughed into the mic.

"Beer root, yeah," he said.

"Don't just give me the root, give me the whole beer!" Kaya exclaimed.

"You keep the damn beer to yourself," Baze muttered to the mic. It was time to continue the song - though he could have just stayed to enjoy the sight of Chirrut's uncontrollable laughter for ages.

" _Gimme gimme baby the thing you're best at, better than anyone, hey, gimme that..._ "

The song itself had painfully simple lyrics. The sexy part of it hid in plain sight, in the melodies and in the way Baze sang it. It was a new kind of song for every longer-term fan, including Chirrut who had been taken aback by its raunchy nature while listening to the new album. Chirrut, like so many others, agreed that the song was best experienced live. It gave Kaya more room for guitar improvisation, and every time Baze managed to sound even more seductive than before. Now that he had already laughed and mentioned Chirrut, Chirrut had to cross his legs tight as if to hold his arousal in place. His skin burned like it did whenever he felt someone stare at him. Baze Malbus must have looked. Chirrut's mind wandered to Baze's kisses.

Baze's mind wandered to Chirrut's lips as he sang about cherries, about tongues and kisses. Just like he had written in the song, he wanted those heart-shaped cherry lips all over his own, his own body. He wanted to, then, return that favour.

" _Cherry cherry lips go down on me!_ " he and Kaya concluded the song.

* * *

Chirrut sat on the taxi seat and searched for Baze's hand. Not a drop of alcohol had passed his or Baze's lips that evening. Baze curled his fingers around Chirrut's hand and have it a squeeze. The car smelled new and fresh, the leather seats squeaked much more than the backstage sofa had many many weeks ago back in Jedha. The scent of everything was far more sober, yet more intoxicating in all its clarity. No sensation for Chirrut was as sharp as the calloused hand of Baze caressing his own, while the tune of  _Cherry Lips_ played in his head. He bit his lower lip and tried to come up with a conversation topic. Baze looked through the window with a silly smile on his face.

"So how far away is it?" Chirrut asked.

"Patience, my friend," Baze responded. Chirrut heard a smile.

"Patience? I'm the one sitting in a taxi you gave the directions to. I am patient _and_ trusting."

" _Why_ are you so trusting?" asked Baze with a bashful chuckle. Chirrut caressed the side of his palm with his fingertip and determined where his callouses and scars were located.

"Maybe I trust that I will be rewarded," said Chirrut. He crossed his legs when his imagination threw a flush of heat over him, with the prospect of being close to Baze, of repeating the lyrics of the song in action.

The taxi stopped in front of Baze's hotel, and the two were out after Baze paid, like the gentleman he was. Baze took a secure hold of Chirrut's arm and lead them through a set of revolving doors that led them to a reception hall. It echoed like a large room, and smelled fresh and clean. Every step they took took them closer to Baze's room, and accelerated Chirrut's heart beat. They stood in front of the elevators and Chirrut squeezed Baze's arm.

"I don't think I got a tooth brush with me," Chirrut mumbled.

"You don't have to come if you don't want to," Baze said. The door made a _ding_ sound before it opened. He knew that a straight-up _no_ could have been hard at this point, so he took every sign of hesitation seriously. Chirrut took a determined step into the elevator, tapping the floor with his staff.

"Guess they have some in the lobby?" Chirrut said. "I often forget to brush in the evenings anyways."

"Sharing your dental hygiene with me now?" Baze said and clicked the right floor.

"Which floor is it gonna be?" Chirrut asked.

"Five." Baze lifted an eyebrow.

"Are we alone?"

"At 2 AM? Yeah."

"C'mere, then," Chirrut huffed and took a hold of Baze's coat collar. "Kiss me."

In his sobriety Chirrut surprised Baze with his courage. Baze could not but reward him for it. Of course, not as if he was hesitant to do so. Baze took a hold of Chirrut as they ascended the floors with the slow steadiness of a big elevator with mirror walls.

"You still like this?" Baze asked.

"I can never be held too tight," Chirrut whispered, partially into the kiss that pushed his back against the wall. His words flooded Baze's privates and he felt a heat spread everywhere between his legs. Chirrut wanted his tongue once again, and just like before, they engaged in a deep, wet, slobbery kiss very quickly, ready to melt into one another. Time ceased to pass as they wrapped their arms around one another in a heated embrace, trying their best to cling on to one another like for their dear lives.

"I've never wanted anyone like I want you," Baze huffed into the kiss and as a response Chirrut bit his lower lip, sucked on it. He had never lusted for someone like he did then. The elevator made the _ding_ sound, and Baze literally dragged Chirrut to his room. Chirrut, all the while, smiled to himself and let himself giggle a bit too. He hushed himself playfully.

When the door closed behind them, they were enclosed in a dark, quiet room here Baze had only left his luggage before the performance. Chirrut let his staff fall on the floor and he threw off his coat. Baze kicked off his sneakers and kissed Chirrut's lips hastily.

"I wanna eat you out," Chirrut sighed.

"What?" Baze asked, literally because he had not quite caught Chirrut's words.

"Like, between your legs... I have condoms so we're protected."

"Ya gotta cut it to cover me," said Baze. Chirrut smiled and bit Baze's lower lip.

"As you say, captain. Your parts, not mine."

The fact that Chirrut took care of their safety pleased Baze, turned him on even more. Chirrut dug out a wrapper from his jean pockets and left his shoes behind as the two walked, lips locked, towards the double bed. Restless hands wandered, Baze lied down on the bed and pulled Chirrut on top of himself. Chirrut straddled him and Baze's hands wandered to his t-shirt, and as their kisses deepened he slid his hands underneath the fabric. Chirrut's jeans had lowered, and Baze's fingertips crawled underneath.

"Is that okay?" he whispered. Chirrut kissed the corner of his lips, and proceeded greedily to his neck right away.

"Touch me anywhere, Malbus." He nibbled at the dark skin and heard Baze moan in pleasure.

"Can I bite?" Chirrut asked. "I'm a biter," he added mischievously.

Baze's hands slid to Chirrut's pants and he closed his eyes as he gave the firm buttocks a good squeeze. Chirrut worked out, and he had not forgotten a leg day.

"Bite me anywhere, I don't care."

"I won't if you don't, ahh..." Chirrut was interrupted by Baze squeezing and spreading his buttocks. It took him an entire two second to gather enough composure to say: "...if you don't _want_ to."

"I want it, Chirrut, and I want _you_. Fuck, your ass is nice."

"Wait, it might help if I took these off," said Chirrut and backed up from the bed. Excitedly, Baze kicked off his own jeans with haste, so he could focus on Chirrut taking off his own, now being only in dark boxers. Then, playfully, Chirrut removed his shirt too, revealing a chiseled, hairless chest with no scars and no other tattoos than the one on his hip.

Baze felt how wet and swollen he was getting. He clenched his muscles and relaxed again when Chirrut threw his shirt on the floor and kicked off his socks from his feet.

"C'mere, handsome," Baze huffed and extended his hand so the blind man could find him easily. Without fumbling Chirrut was again on top of Baze, and Baze could feel a hard cock press against his own centre of pleasure when Chirrut lay on top of him. Baze instinctively jerked his hips upwards, and Chirrut moaned into the kiss. Baze lowered Chirrut's boxers and took a hold of the now exposed buttocks. He moved them around and squeezed them heartily

"You like that?" he asked.

"My stars, I love that," Chirrut whispered. His hands' way took his touch underneath Baze's shirt, to the hairy and squishy abdomen and the plentiful chub covering his musculature. He moved to Baze's neck and enjoyed the sensation of having his buttocks be spread open to nobody in particular looking. He nibbled at the skin where Baze's neck met with his shoulder and sucked on it briefly, resisting the urge to leave bruised marks of his visit. He licked the skin and pressed his hips against Baze's, his erection against Baze's groin. He got Baze to grind against him right back. Even through the clothes it felt intimate and it got of them both breathing heavily in lust.

"Your body feels so hot, like sexy hot," Chirrut huffed against skin wet from his saliva and bit another spot. Baze smiled and lifted his midsection to give Chirrut's hands way to get a better hold of his sides, to slide his hands a bit under Baze and feel the hairy, chubby man around. Chirrut's hard erection kept on pressing and did not yield, and Baze rolled his eyes back as the thoughts the erection inspired in his wild mind took over. Chirrut lifted Baze's shirt as the opportunity arose, and moved on to kissing his bare chest.

Before his hand touched anywhere else, he stopped kissing and asked: "How's your nipples?"

"What about them?" Baze asked through sudden bewilderment.

"Do you like 'em touched?" Chirrut asked. His kisses traveled towards Baze's nipple and he visibly shivered. He practically clawed at Chirrut's buttocks as a response.

"I love them tortured."

"Tortured?"

"I'll tell you if it's too hard," said Baze with eyes closed out of embarrassment. He had not meant to form it quite so truthfully.

"Can I bite them?" asked Chirrut and laid a kiss on the left one. Baze had plenty of mass in his chest, and while his pecs were visible there was also stuff to squish. Baze moaned and felt his body heat up with every stroke. Chirrut rubbed his erection against him and stopped for a brief moment to focus on Baze's chest.

"Not yet," Baze whispered. Chirrut nodded and duly noted the answer. He kissed the nipple again, left his mouth open above it, and pressed his wet tongue over the bud, the hard nipple, and licked it. The moan it inspired from Baze's mouth made glee bubble within him, hardening him further. Baze spread Chirrut's buttocks even more and firmer, and his firm hold was everything Chirrut could have asked for.

Once he had gotten familiar with Baze's chest, he ground his hips against Baze's, and felt how Baze pulled him down by the buttocks. He licked the nipple with passion and placed his fingertips around the other, teasing Baze to ultimate wetness. Every lick that Chirrut administered on him was felt in Baze's nether parts, and every twist of his nipple made him more relaxed, more swollen, more ready. Calling it foreplay would have done the activity a disservice, for Baze loved every second of it just as it was.

"You're so hard," Baze huffed. The words shot electric shocks right into the mentioned hardness.

"You made me," Chirrut chirped. Baze opened his eyes enough to see the half-lidded look of pleasure on Chirrut's face. It looked as if he was enjoying the most delicious meal, though if Chirrut had not changed his mind, this was only an appetizer.

And oh, didn't Chirrut have an appetite. His kisses traveled down to Baze's chest and to his soft stomach, and the hairy trail that led to the boxers he wore, still, the tight boxers that were now damp and soaked. Baze let go of Chirrut's buttocks and scratched his back as Chirrut went lower, took a playful hold of Baze's boxers with his teeth.

"Oh, fuck yeah," Baze mumbled. Chirrut reached for a pillow, set it on the floor and kneeled on top of it. Then, he pulled Baze closer, though Baze took the hint and came closer himself. Chirrut's hands wandered up, back to the nipples, and twisted them.

Baze's own, natural scent came more intensely from between his legs. It was familiar, but this time, it intoxicated Chirrut. Chirrut kissed Baze's inner thigh and the scent could have drugged him. He would not have minded. Baze's skin was hairy and warm and inviting. Chirrut laid multiple kisses on the sensitive skin and bit him here and there, hard, but Baze felt no pain. He only felt the kisses, the twisting motion on his nipples, and Chirrut's heavy breathing.

Chirrut took his time. He bit the skin just next to the hem of Baze's boxers, and kissed the fabric right against the groin. That night Baze did not wear a packer, so he did not need to tell Chirrut about it. Chirrut had full, authorized, consensual access to everything between his legs, and Baze felt blissfully exposed, with his chest out and his wetness right in front of Chirrut's face.

Chirrut pressed a kiss through the fabric right against a bulging clitoris, and Baze threw his head back. The pleasure was the kind that was _almost_ there, the teasing was driving him to the wall, and he loved it. Chirrut took the reaction as a positive one and kissed the damp fabric again. Te salty taste of slightly sweaty, very wet underwear made his lust rise sky-high within him.

"You like that? That's a bit teasing, don't wanna piss you off," Chirrut purred.

"Fuck no, that's really good," Baze said. "I like it slow at first."

"So do I," Chirrut said and now kissed the entire length of Baze's parts with a long, wet movement against the fabric. Baze sighed deeply, it was music to Chirrut, a song he hoped he could hear. So he did it again, and again, and again, successfully urging it to come out.

After a while of teasing on top of the fabric, Chirrut tugged at the top of the boxers. Baze took no time to hesitate and pushed the boxers down, and Chirrut took them off. Baze nearly kicked Chirrut in the head, managed to only brush the side of his head slightly. The heat of the moment made him a bit careless.

"Scissors?" Chirrut asked.

"In the drawer."

With swift hands, Chirrut took out a small set of scissors from the drawer and cut a condom so that it was one sheet of latex. He placed the scissors back on the desk and breathed in the warm, intense scent of Baze. He leaned in closer to is source, an opening wetness that made his own hard erection throb painfully.

"You ever had this done before?" Chirrut asked. He caressed the inner thigh. His mouth watered.

"Yeah."

"How do you like it?"

"Long, lingering licks at first," said Baze. He adjusted the hem of his lifted shirt and held on to it with one hand. A plentiful bush of hair greeted the tip of Chirrut's nose as he leaned closer. The hairs delivered pheromones and the intense scent of lust turned up the metaphorical volume of Chirrut's desire. Oh, how he wanted to taste Baze, taste every inch and drink in every drop of his arousal. But this was not the time - they had to protect one another.

Chirrut felt around with his fingertips - he had to start somewhere. They found rough, curly hair that started from the inner thigh and intensified in thickness as Chirrut approached the groin. His fingertips met with droplets of lust, wetness that caused him to involuntarily gasp. He laid a kiss on the inner thigh and pushed his fingers further, found a swollen soft part. Baze lowered his hand and directed Chirrut's fingertips against the small bulge, pressed them against it.

"That's where it is," he grumbled. Chirrut could not see, but Baze felt an arousing wave of embarrassment wash over him as he watch Chirrut observe him and his parts with all his senses so closely.

"God, I wanna..."

"Give me the condom," Baze said. He took it when Chirrut handed it, and set himself up in a way that his own hairs would not be too much between his tender parts, the latex, and Chirrut. The sound the spreading lips made intensified Baze's embarrassment. Chirrut determined what Baze had done with his hand, and he smiled. All the while, he did his best to observe any signs of retreating from Baze, but found none. On the contrary, Baze was moving his hips ever so slightly towards Chirrut. He could only trust that Baze Malbus would tell him if he had changed his mind.

Chirrut leaned in and kissed the part Baze had shown to him with his hand. It was easily the size of the tip of Baze's thumb, curving the latex upwards. It begged for attention, while Baze held back any begging. Chirrut kissed it, placed his hands on Baze's thighs and moved them to the lower parts, grabbed the plentiful flesh and wanted to leave claw marks on the musician's skin.

Chirrut stuck out his tongue and pressed it against the latex. The tip of it was near the entrance, which made Baze moan louder than he had intended to. The moan was as long as the long, pleasurable lick that brought Chirrut's tongue up, up to the clitoris again to which Chirrut gave a kiss, a tongue kiss. The second lick pressed more against Baze, a bit too hard, and he hissed.

"Oh, sorry," Chirrut said immediately.

"Don't press that much," Baze said. "Otherwise it's really good."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah," Baze said and spread his legs some more. Every subsequent lick dissipated his embarrassment and turned it into pleasure, lick by lick by lick. And Chirrut, he was at the peak of his happiness. He held in the compliment for the time being, but Baze's scent was wonderful to him. So wonderful. He wanted to taste him too. The urge was strong, but he kept it in.

Chirrut kissed the clitoris again and wrapped his lips around it, added some suction. Baze's sharp gasp could have meant either pleasure or unpleasant surprise, but when Baze talked, he eliminated the latter option entirely:

"Oh, fuck yeah, that's so good." Baze took a hold of his shirt collar with his teeth and he bit the fabric. Chirrut was good. Chirrut was so, so damn good.

He went on with the motion for a long time. Baze did not know for how long, but he knew that he didn't get used to the feeling of a warm tongue against him. It sent sparks through his body and somehow, every lick made fondness grow greater within him. Baze adjusted the latex over himself every now and then. Chirrut did not mind the taste of the rubber, and although the condom's lubricant had an unpleasant taste, in the heat of their first time he did not let it bother him. He felt Baze's warmth through it and while he was tempted all the time, his senses kept him in check. He wanted to be safe, and he wanted Baze Malbus to be safe.

Baze Malbus felt that he wanted something more. He nudged a bit away and looked down at the stack of fluffy black hair. He ground his teeth against his shirt as the other man worked on his pleasure. He wanted the wetness to be used. He wanted something _inside_ him. But not Chirrut's hardness yet - he knew he'd enjoy it fully only if he were to climax first. Then he would relax, and enjoy Chirrut's length to its full extent.

"Chirrut," Baze whispered and let go of the shirt between his teeth. He looked down at Chirrut who vigilantly lifted his head from the activity. The way his lips and chin glistened with the lubricant of the condom and his own saliva as well as Baze's wetness made Baze shiver with arousal.

"Yeah?"

"I want you to make me cum," Baze grunted. "Before I ask you to fuck me."

It was Chirrut's turn to shiver. Of course he wanted it. And the fact that Baze also wanted the intercourse made his throbbing erection feel all the more urgent.

"Alright," Chirrut said. His lust would have made him say _yes_ to almost any suggestion.

"How do I do that?" he asked.

"Do what you're doing now," Baze said. "And... Put your fingers inside."

"Fingers?"

"Two at first," Baze whispered. "I'll tell you if I need more."

Something about Chirrut's conduct relaxed him. Chirrut smiled and found Baze's opening. Chirrut, with unwavering focus, found the right place with ease.

"Here?" he asked anyhow. He did not want to do anything wrong, and he realized how much trust was being put in his hands, literally to the tips of his fingers. He had done it before with somebody in the past, but every body was different, and everyone had different preferences. And Baze wasn't in it the first time either, but an excitement came over him that made him tense up for a second.

Then, relax again. Baze nodded. "There."

"Do I go slowly first?"

"Just put them in... And keep them there." Baze took a deep breath and let himself loosen up. The kind smile on Chirrut's face helped him relax.

"I won't move if you don't ask me to," Chirrut said.

"Put them in slowly," Baze instructed.

The heat inside of Baze beckoned Chirrut. Chirrut pressed, slowly, at the entrance, and felt it open to him. Baze took a deep breath and felt a fleeting stinging that faded before he considered saying anything about it. He gasped sharply, which made Chirrut stop.

"No, no, go on," Baze said. Chirrut found nothing to object. The feeling of Baze's wet insides and the heat that wrapped around his fingers made him imagine what was to come. He was determined to make it happen, no matter how long it would take.

His fingers sank into Baze like into butter. Baze groaned in pleasure. When he looked down and saw that this muscular handsome man was inside of him, the pleasure from the fingers further intensified. He felt as if his senses sharpened, as if his outer parts became more receptive, more sensitive to touch. He knew he would cum. By stars, how he _wanted_ to cum!

"You're... Nice and tight," Chirrut said and laughed. "Is that okay to say..?"

"I hope not too tight," Baze said, embarrassed blush climbing on his cheeks. The feeling of being filled even if just by two fingers took over his senses and he held on to the latex with white knuckles.

"No, no... You feel wonderful." Chirrut breathed closer and laid a kiss on the latex again. He felt the textures of Baze's insides and memorized as much of it as he could. He let his eyelids fall as he felt Baze relax around him, and he kissed the bulge through the condom.

"Move your fingers," Baze huffed. He tried to mask his desperation, but the groan afterwards gave it away. Chirrut did as he was told and pulled the fingers out, then pushed them back in. He equipped a steady, slow rhythm and began fingering Baze, at the same time as he kissed the twitching bulge that was his clitoris.

After a while, Baze asked him to move faster. He felt a warmth circle around his nether parts, waiting to become one ball of exploding pleasure. Chirrut moved in a steady rhythm at the same time as his tongue beat the clitoris from left to right. The angle in which Chirrut pushed inside of him was slightly upwards, and despite aches in his knees and shoulder, he kept it the same angle and rhythm. Baze moaned and kept Chirrut informed that it was good. So damn good.

"I'm gonna lose it," Baze growled and clawed at his skin with the fingertips that did not hold the condom in place. And while he was damn near to losing his composure, he knew that were Chirrut to keep up the pace, he would cum soon. Baze wanted Chirrut Îmwe to make him climax. He tightened his muscles around Chirrut's fingers and inspired a gasp from him.

"My stars, you're strong," Chirrut said.

"I am," said Baze with pride. Tightening his insides intensified the pleasure.

"Don't stop, Chirrut," he exhaled. "Fuck. You're so fucking good."

The words went right between Chirrut's legs. The little exhaustion he felt in his muscles dissipate, and he increased the tempo of his fingers. More rightly, in fact, the tempo of his entire arm. Baze could feel how the friction increased, and he knew he would need more lubricant soon, but by goodness not now, not now...

The pleasure circled in on his clitoris and he opened his eyes wide. It had been _who knew how long_ but to Baze it felt like forever, and too little, at the same time. He wanted to cum, but he didn't want to. He wanted to climax, but he wanted also the lingering feeling of it approaching.

"Keep on going and I'll cum," Baze said and moved his hips upwards. Against the source of pleasure he could not remember having experienced in a long, long time. Chirrut was obedient and reactive a partner, and somehow climax was closer than it had been with anyone else.

He felt it coming. He told Chirrut, repeatedly, that he was going to cum. Chirrut's steady movement and the sounds he made as his wet tongue pleased the tip of Baze's pleasure, the way his fingertips hit just the right spots inside, it all made Baze realize that he did not need the third finger at all. He tightened himself around Chirrut and he had to lift his hand from the condom when it came, to shut his mouth with his hand...

Baze moaned against his palm, nearly screamed as the pleasure snapped and imploded within his senses. Chirrut left his fingers inside and pulled his tongue back, focused on the twitching movement and the laboured breathing and the muffled moans that Baze made. Chirrut was panting, and he could have sworn he had never experienced anything more beautiful. His hot breath huffed on the now revealed hairs, the sensation went entirely past Baze who was possessed by the pleasure. Chirrut let go of the condom and climbed on the bed, searched for Baze's face, and laid a kiss on the heated skin, the side of his nose.

"Holy shit," Baze said while recovering from the experience. Chirrut kissed his lips.

"Was it good?"

"Did I cum?" Baze said sarcastically. "Yeah, fuck, you got a tongue like an monster..."

"How long a break do you need?" Chirrut asked. "Do you still want me to-"

A kiss interrupted the question. Lust dripped from the corners of their mouths when Baze huffed against Chirrut's lips:

"Fuck me, Chirrut."

Chirrut did not need to be urged twice. The slight nervousness he had felt about it earlier vanished. He reached for the condom package on the night stand where he had left it. Baze moved more comfortably to the bed and put a pillow under his waist. He removed his shirt and watched as Chirrut took off his boxers, unwrapped the condom, and threw the package on the floor.

"Did it come with lube?" Baze asked.

"There's some in the bigger package."

"I could use some." No objections followed. Chirrut rolled the condom easily on himself and spread some lubricant on top of it. His length was average, comfortable, not intimidating. Satisfying to look at, even more satisfying to feel. Baze extended his arms to take a hold of Chirrut when he came over him, between his legs. His erection rubbed against the sensitive clit, and Baze moaned into a wet kiss they shared. Baze placed his hands on Chirrut's cheeks. He felt tranquil. He smiled back into the kiss when he felt Chirrut's lips curve.

Baze Malbus felt happiness.

"You want it?" Chirrut made sure. Baze lowered his hand and took a hold of Chirrut's thigh, brushed the hard erection with the tip of his thumb.

"Yeah," he grumbled. Chirrut nodded.

"I'm not gonna last long," he chuckled. He was at his limit, had been teased to the brink of orgasm.

"It's okay," Baze said. "Lemme guide you."

Baze stared at the blushed face of Chirrut intently when he placed the tip to his entrance, felt the lubricant smear on him. Chirrut took a hold of his own shaft and gulped while leaning to the bed with his other hand.

"Just push in," Baze whispered and bit Chirrut's lip gently. "I'll be okay."

Chirrut felt his tip sink in. Baze's heat engulfed him as he pushed himself all in, and he felt as if he melted into Baze. He wrapped his arms around Baze and bit into his shoulder, whimpered, Baze smiled and hugged Chirrut with his arms, his legs. Chirrut moved back and forth slowly and with every thrust he moaned against the skin he was biting. It would leave a mark. Baze wanted it to.

Every thrust into him beckoned his orgasm's afterglow to come back, and his insides were on fire, and he felt like Chirrut was pushing him deeper into the mattress in the most comfortable manner. Chirrut made love to him with passion and animalistic lust. Baze had never felt such bliss.

And truly, it took Chirrut only a few passionate thrusts to climax, and Baze felt like his own orgasm was finished only when he got to keep the shivering, shaking Chirrut against himself when he was at his weakest.

* * *

The lamp on the night stand cast a warm light to the room furnished with warm colours. Baze exhaled the sweet-scented vapour. With his fingertips he played with Chirrut's bicep and scratched him every now and then. He locked his eyes with the trash can where they had thrown the two condoms and a few hand wipes. The both of them were too lazy to take a shower right after, and Baze had no focus or energy to feel dirty or disgusted. Chirrut breathed heavily and drew drowsy circles on Baze's chest, fiddling with the curly hairs that grew there. Baze drew the thick duvet over them better. Hotel sheets were soft.

Chirrut nudged himself closer and chuckled. "Is that raspberry-scented?"

"Yeah."

"I like it."

"It's the only one I like. Vanilla is a bit too, hmm, pervasive."

"What's the time?"

"Four in the morning."

"And you're _vaping_."

"Isn't it custom to smoke after sex?"

"After _good_ sex." Chirrut laid a kiss on Baze's chest, near the nipple that was still red after all the attention it had gotten. "Ahh..."

"Well, there you have it," Baze said. Baze kissed the top of Chirrut's head, could smell the hair wax.

"Don't go yet," Baze then mumbled.

"I _should_ call a cab..."

"Don't. Please stay for the night." It was an honest plea that made Chirrut's heart leap high. He blinked rapidly, having not expected it.

Baze continued: "They _do_ sell tooth brushes in the lobby."

"Oh, alright. I can't say no to a new tooth brush."

"You can't have too many," said Baze. It felt nice to lie naked against a muscular man in clean hotel sheets they had made dirty with their sweat and lust. The blush on their faces had not dissipated in the course of a full 30 minutes since the intercourse had ended. Sleep was pushing their eyelids down, but something fluttered inside them both that kept them awake.

It was that something Baze had written a few songs about. It was that something that Chirrut had taught the Force to be strong in, a cluster of emotions that made one push one's self tighter against another human being. It was a something that tickled their insides and made them hope for eternities. It was something neither of them had felt before with this intensity. Something they both knew they lacked. Baze felt it when his gaze wandered on Chirrut's skin. Chirrut felt it when Baze grunted faintly when he breathed in vapour. Hormones worked their harmonies, the chemical reactions made them both fall in love.

"Would you like to have breakfast with me? It's on me," Baze asked. "The breakfast buffet here isn't that expensive."

Chirrut wrapped his arm around the big man and breathed in the scent of fresh love and passionate nights.

"Breakfast, lunch, dinner... Anything you want, Baze Malbus."

"No," Baze said and put away the vape. "Anything _we_ want."

With a promise of tomorrow, they both drifted to sleep. Under the blanket of warmth and fondness, Baze thought of a new song. The song had Chirrut's rhythm in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that inspired Cherry Lips is Lord of the Lost's _La Bomba_ and Judas Priest's _Don't Go_. The former is not a safe-for-work song.  
>  (I can't stand the rhyme fire-desire. And yet... here I am ...... using it ................. myself.)


	5. Encore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baze has invited Chirrut over for tea and pie. Chirrut gets to know Bodhi, and a duo called Griffin and Leo. No feeling is left unturned.

_There are really no words strong enough_  
_To describe all my longing for love_  
_I don't want my feelings restrained_

 _Oh babe, I just need you like never before_  
_I just imagine you'd come through this door_  
_You'd take all my sorrow away_

  

* * *

   
"Excuse me," Chirrut asked whoever was walking down the stairs and gave a smile to them as a sign of kindness, of good will.

"Could you help me a bit?"

"Yes?" they asked. Chirrut felt how their gaze fell to Chirrut's staff. He held on to it and leaned to it softly.

"Could you tell me where the door of Malbus is?" Chirrut asked. "It would help me immensely if you could tell me. I know I'm on the right floor, but I wouldn't like to ring every door bell."

"It's the one right behind you," the person said with a kind voice. It echoed in the large hallway. Chirrut thanked them and turned around, searching for a door. His fingertips found a metallic rim over a button that, he hoped, was the door bell. He breathed in the clean scent of the corridor and wondered what colours the place had. He had taken a taxi and gotten inside the block of flats. He had not talked with Baze that day, but he had been invited to come over earlier. Way earlier, during a long phone call.

He listened to the foot steps behind the door and took a step back himself. He was not sure what way the doors opened, so he took a step to the side too. His heartbeat accelerated when the lock of the door clicked, and the hinges whined gently.

"Hello?" asked an unfamiliar voice. A cold washed over Chirrut and his smile faded, if only a little bit.

"I... Uh... May the Force of others be with you."

"How can I help you?" The voice wavered quietly, and it had a different accent from Baze's. This definitely was not Baze making fun of Chirrut. Most importantly, though, Baze was not even the type to do so.

"I must have the wrong place-"

"Are you Chirrut?" the voice asked. Hope lifted its pretty head.

"Yes. Yes I am. The only one."

"Oh, I was told to let you in. Baze is not yet here, but, but he'll be here soon. He had to go get some ingredients or what not." The door opened a bit more when the voice added: "I'm Bodhi."

Bodhi let Chirrut in and gave him a chance to breathe in his first impression of Baze's home. He could distinguish the smell of hay and something organic, a bit bitter. A warm scent lingered in the air, perhaps a bread of a pie being cooked. When Bodhi walked past him to the entrance hall, he could hear hesitation before he spoke. Bodhi himself smelled like some kind of a cheap, boyish perfume.

"He's told me a lot about you," Bodhi said.

"He's told  _me_ a lot about _you_ , too, young man," Chirrut said. "How's studies going?"

"Oh, they're going okay," Bodhi said. He hesitated with his answer as if taken aback by the sudden interest.

"Do I have to take off my shoes?" Chirrut asked.

"Yeah, Baze would appreciate it. And the bunnies."

"Oh, right," Chirrut said as he pushed his shoes off of his feet. "Bunnies."

"They're free-roaming," Bodhi said.

"Baze told me." Chirrut tapped the floor a few times with the staff out of a habit more than for any function or purpose. It did, however, give him a brief image of how large the hallway was. Baze had told him that he had a three-room apartment with one guest bedroom that Bodhi inhabited whenever he stayed there for the weekends. Judging by the similarity between the apartment's scent and Bodhi's, he had been there for at least one full day.

"Do you want me to show you a seat?" Bodhi then asked. His voice told the tale of a sensitive soul. He reminded Chirrut of tree leaves. Chirrut wondered if he stammered naturally or if it was a nervous reaction.

"Yes, please."

"By the hand, or..?"

"I can hear where you're going," said Chirrut patiently. Bodhi chuckled in awkwardness.

"Yeah, yeah, of course. This way, Chirrut."

Chirrut walked slowly. The wooden floor became a carpet, and the sounds of the room told him that he had arrived to a much larger space. He heard little rustling from his left, and his staff met with a soft piece of furniture.

"Can I ask you something?" Bodhi asked.

"Of course."

"Does it make you nervous to be in a new place?"

"Sometimes. Is this the sofa?"

"Yes. Please, do sit down... Do you want tea?"

"No, no, I'm fine. I'll have some maybe later."

"Really?"

"Okay, if you insist," Chirrut laughed. "Bring me water, then. Did Baze tell you to serve me?"

"No, but he told me to take care of you until he's back."

Chirrut listened to Bodhi pour a tall glass of cold water for him from a jug in the fridge. Ice cubes clinked against the glass. The rustling sound and some hopping motion happened behind him, behind the sofa where the rest of the room was. With a quick feeling around with the staff he determined that the television table was in front of him, and he sat probably facing the wall. He extended his hands to receive the glass when Bodhi came to bring it to him, and he thanked the young man.

Bodhi stood about a meter away from Chirrut, and Chirrut found himself be the object of an uncertain stare. As if Bodhi was looking for ways to word some kind of a question.

"So, are you like... Baze's friend?"

Chirrut's throat dried. His teeth clacked together a few times before he responded: "Did he tell you that?"

"Yeah, something of that sort."

"Yeah, I'm his friend." Though he had hoped he would be more. The hotel incident from a few weeks ago came to his mind and while it filled him with a rush, it also brought with it a melancholy feeling. Was he only a friend? Was this just for fun, after all - and not to last long? His heart fluttered at the thought of being in the home of Baze Malbus, and not just in the home of Baze Malbus of  _The Whills_.

The home of Baze Malbus, a man he could not stop thinking about. Baze Malbus, a man he listened to from record and connected the voice to his off-stage voice. Baze Malbus, a man the thought of whom got him smiling, the thought of whom made his body feel tingly and his mind feel light. His mind felt light, but he did not know if it was right. He was Baze Malbus's friend for sure. They'd had long conversations about issues people didn't talk about with just acquaintances, or people they'd had sex with and had awkward thoughts about. They had exchanged phone numbers and talked on the phone every now and then. Baze wanted to know if Chirrut was going to appear at a gig. Baze Malbus seemed interested enough.

Was there more than that, though? More than just interest?

"So you said he talks about me?" Chirrut said. "I wonder what he speaks of me."

"Well, he told me you go to  _Whills_ gigs often and that you're coming today." Bodhi stopped for a moment. He sensed movement by his left foot and heard some steps move from the wooden floor to the carpet between the sofa and the television.

"Someone came to say hi," Bodhi said with a smile. A twitching motion brushed against Chirrut's foot. It was so light he wondered if it was there at all.

"Someone?"

"It's Griffin," said Bodhi. "The other bunny. A big girl, she is... It's odd because she's usually so shy."

"Really now?" Chirrut then he felt a small push against his foot, and he drew his foot back. A series of rustling steps hurried the bunny away from him.

"Did I startle her?" Chirrut asked.

"Yeah..." Bodhi said and chuckled. "But she'll be okay. She's very curious about you."

"What's the name of the other one?"

"He's called Leo," said Bodhi. "He and Griffin are kind of husband and wife... Very close to one another."

"That's precious," said Chirrut. He listened carefully to the sounds of bunnies hopping behind the sofa. Their presence was simultaneously calming and unnerving. How small were they? Could Chirrut accidentally hurt them?

The hopping sounds went into one specific direction when the door opened. Bodhi stood up and a familiar grunt came into the apartment together with corridor air. Baze noticed Chirrut from the door right away. Chirrut could not see his smile, but heard it in his voice.

"You came a bit early."

"I came on time, Baze Malbus," said Chirrut and lifted a finger. He placed his glass on the coffee table nearby.

"You, however, are late from your own home."

"No such thing, Îmwe," said Baze and removed his shoes. He turned his attention to the rabbits that had come to greet him. "Babies, I'll give you some, calm down..."

"Guess I'll be going?" Bodhi asked. Baze nodded to him and patted his shoulder.

"Thanks so much, kid."

"Save me some pie."

"Of course. It's your favourite, too."

"Peaches?"

"Yep."

Chirrut made a mental note that Bodhi's favourite fruit was peach. Somehow he concluded that he had to be on Bodhi's good side for this train to move anywhere. And on the good side of the bunny rabbits that Baze softly talked to when he walked to the kitchen to empty the shopping bag. Chirrut heard the door close and he turned his head to the direction where he heard Baze rustling a paper bag, and then a plastic bag.

"So your bunnies are called Leo and Griffin?"

"Yep," Baze said simply, and talked a bit softer to a rabbit. Chirrut could not but smile.

"Can I pet them?" Chirrut asked. The unease from before seemed to disappear when he listened to Baze's soft voice, a voice intimate and homey enough to sound new to Chirrut. He heard the bunnies' hopping steps and could not quite determine where they were. Their nails made scratching noises against the floor.

"Oh, you have to ask them," Baze said. He walked closer to Chirrut and touched his shoulder gently, then took a hold of the hand Chirrut lifted.

"You should sit on the floor. Lemme lead you."

It was not that Baze put every friend and potential romantic interest through this test, but it sure helped to know how people acted around bunny rabbits. It had relieved Baze to hear that Chirrut had no allergies, nor had he chosen to use a guide dog, which of course was odd on its own. Baze urged Chirrut to sit in the middle of the living room. Chirrut lowered himself to a lotus position with ease and laid the staff carefully on the floor, mindful of the rabbits' proximity. Baze did not sit yet.

"You can sit here and let them get used to your presence," Baze said. "I'll finish the pie in the meantime."

"Aren't you gonna ask me how I am?" Chirrut said playfully.

Baze's steps took him to the kitchen and when he opened the kitchen door, turned around to put a jug of juice to the counter, he had a good look at Chirrut.

"How are you, then?"

Chirrut sat on the floor with an ageless calm around him. It was something Baze was not used to in his own life. In his own life filled with war memories and a hectic time table between recording studios, gig venues, buses, trains, cars. And there Chirrut was, sitting in the middle of his calm spot, in the middle of animals that absolutely required calm.

"I've been fine. Work, training, reading, concerts..."

"The usual?"

"Nothing much more than what I've talked to you about on the phone."

Chirrut had waxed his hair back and he wore a black t-shirt with no prints on it. Loose grey sweatpants covered his legs. His socks looked oddly grey as well, as if they had once been white. A diagonal smile decorated his plump lips.

He sat still, which was an important observation. He was not like a dog owner who became anxious when an animal didn't immediately want affection. He was not like a cat owner either, expecting an animal to come from any direction. No, he acted just like one should have acted in the presence of prey animals - calm, and serene.

"What are their personalities like? I can sense that they have wildly different tempers," Chirrut said. He placed his wrists on top of his knees and let his fingertips curl naturally when he turned his palms upwards.

"Leo is a rex," said Baze, even though the breed had very little to do with the personality. "He likes me more than Griffin does. Griffin is an English lop."

"I love that word," Chirrut said. "Lop. So I gather that Griffin is more skittish?"

"You could say so."

"That's what Bodhi said. Apparently he came to greet me before."

Baze looked down at his feet where Leo, an orange-brown rabbit with a velvety coat, was circling his feet in hopes of food. Griffin, a dark grey rabbit of much bigger size was munching on hay, looking warily in Chirrut's direction every now and then. Griffin's long ears dragged on the floor as she moved.

"Really?" Baze asked. He found it hard to believe.

"Really!" exclaimed Chirrut and spread his arms. "Your bunnies like me. I hope I can pet them. I've never petted a rabbit before."

"They will probably come to you."

"Alright. So, how have  _you_  been, Baze Malbus?"

"The usual, again. Not more than what I said yesterday."

"What a boring conversation we are having," Chirrut huffed and wrinkled his nose. "Tell me more about your rabbits."

Baze chuckled and filled the kettle with fresh water from the faucet. "Leo has a smoother coat. Griffin will feel rough to the fingertips. Griffin has lop ears and Leo's ears are big and upright."

"Aww." Chirrut gave a tight-lipped smile. "How sweet."

"Rabbits are a bunch of bastards," said Baze. He put the kettle on the stove and turned it on, then moved to the fridge which got Leo circling his feet even more wildly. He took out a cup he had cut up four small pieces of fruit - peach cubes, to be exact. The fresh scent of peaches tickled his nose when he took the foil from covering the fruit.

"Are they?"

"They'll do anything to get food," Baze said and walked to Chirrut. Leo followed Baze's steps so closely that Baze, with experience, had to be careful to not step on the animal's tiny little feet.

"But that's also the key to their little greedy hearts."

"Food?"

"Yeah."

"You're making a pie, aren't you?"

"Gimme your hand."

Chirrut gave his hand as he was told. Baze stuck a cold porcelain bowl into his grip. Chirrut took a hold of it and waited for an answer.

"I _am_ making a pie," Baze said.

"So you bribe me with a pie, and I will bribe the bunnies with fruit?" Chirrut asked. He could sense bustling around himself, and something warm brush against his knee. Baze leaned to the kitchen counter and folded his arms.

"That's an interesting way to put it."

For the shortest while, he thought he saw sadness on Chirrut's face. It was in the way his smile faded, the way his cheeks drooped whenever he did not smile. It was in the way his brow wrinkled and in the way his unseeing eyes searched for something, or seemed to search for something to the unknowing onlooker. It was as if he had expected some kind of a different answer, an answer Baze could not think about just then. Instead of asking about something so vague, he watched the bunnies gather around Chirrut who took a small piece of peach from the bowl and put it forward.

Baze checked the tea water and took out his best green tea leaves from the cupboard. They were properly stored inside a tin box that kept the aromas and the leaves safe from too much oxygen and sunlight. He took out a tea pot and started to put the leaves in. Then he heard a yelp, and he could not but laugh when he saw Leo jump away with a big piece of peach between his smug lips.

"They're strong!"

"I told you they'd do anything for food."

"How big are they?" Chirrut asked. The look of amused stupefaction on his face made Baze giggle uncontrollably for a few seconds.

"They're, _hah_ , they would fit in your lap."

"So like a small dog?"

"Yeah. Leo is way smaller than Griffin, but he makes up for it in..."

"...rudeness?"

"I was gonna say bravery," said Baze and sealed the lid of the tea can. "But that works, too."

Usually, Griffin would run after Leo, her bonded partner, to ask for a piece of whatever he had taken from someone's hand. This time, she stayed close to Chirrut, placed her paws on Chirrut's knee, and reached to wiggle her nose closer to the bowl Chirrut held up. Her whiskers touched Chirrut's wrist when he moved his hands down, and now he held much tighter on to the piece of fruit he offered to the bunny. She tried her best to tug it from him, but when she judged it impossible, she settled with munching on the fruit close to Chirrut, every now and then lowering herself on all her fours to chew the mouthful she had taken.

The sight had an effect on Baze he had not expected. The feeling he'd had for Chirrut after their heated night in the hotel returned. He had thought, then, that it had merely been infatuation strengthened by the afterglow of an intensely intimate act. But now it was revealed to him with the stark brightness of the day itself that it was another thing entirely. Infatuation, yes, but that the infatuation in and of itself was what he felt for Chirrut Îmwe was news for Baze. When he watched Chirrut smile at the rabbit, the one that usually did not care for humans much, he assessed the emotions bursting within him. Whenever Chirrut's smile widened, whenever Baze saw it properly here in the lights of his own apartment instead of a bar or a restaurant, his heart leaped in his chest.

Something fluttered there, something the wings of which caressed his heart haphazardly from all sides. Chirrut chuckled with his low-pitched voice and gave another piece to the rabbit who subsequently hopped right into his lap. The surprise on Chirrut's face got Baze laughing, once again.

"She's huge!"

"She is an English lop, so of course she is."

"I thought rabbits are tiny."

"In nature they're not."

"Yeah but," Chirrut said and focused for a moment to hold on to the piece of fruit, and to hold up the bowl from Leo who was again sniffling at his knuckles.

"...but I thought pet rabbits are smaller."

"There are bigger and smaller ones," said Baze and poured tea water of just the right temperature into the ceramic blue pot. The tea leaves floated in the water, he watched them move until he closed the lid of the pot.

"And these are the bigger ones?" Chirrut clarified.

"Yeah. Well, Griffin is. Leo is kind of middle-sized."

"I see."

Griffin reached up to Chirrut's hand and Chirrut could not but chuckle at the sensation of having a lap full of bunny. The rabbit moved much more calmly than the other one did, and Chirrut took a liking to the animal. The animals seemed happy to him. Their presence in the Force echoed pleasantly, not with distress. He knew these to be sensitive animals, so if Baze could take care of them in a satisfying manner. It further confirmed the image Chirrut had formed of Baze.

Baze scooped out the tea leaves, but before he poured any, he came to Chirrut and sat down on the floor in front of him. Their knees touched when he did. Griffin froze for a brief moment when he did that, but continued munching on a piece of peach in Chirrut's lap. Chirrut turned his face in Baze's direction.

"You could pet her, I think," Baze said.

"I want to."

"Gimme the bowl."

Baze had not cut too many pieces for the rabbits, so when he gave the last one to Leo, there were none left and he could leave the bowl on the floor behind his back. Leo hopped close to it and Baze petted his head briefly and gently with his fingertips. The rabbit went flat against the floor when he felt the petting motion against himself, and crunched his teeth briefly together. Baze smiled and turned back to Chirrut.

"Now that she's focused on the peach, you can make friends with her by petting her."

"Where does she like it?"

"Bunnies tend to groom each other's heads," Baze explained. "Griffin likes her ears touched."

Chirrut lifted his eyebrows. As someone more used to cats and dogs, animals that did not usually like their ears touched, he was surprised to hear this. He gasped when Baze's hand touched his, and he lifted his hand to be taken a better hold of. Baze placed the hand where Griffin's head was.

"Usually you have to first show your hand to the rabbit, so they can back off if they don't want to be petted. I showed your hand to her, and she did not back off. Now..."

He moved Chirrut's fingertips against Griffin's head. The soft fur was warm to the touch, and it made Chirrut's smile widen even more.

"She's very fluffy."

"Isn't she?" Baze said. Chirrut heard his smile. He wanted to make Baze smile more. He wanted Baze to never let go of his hand. Griffin's jaws ground the fruit into a mush in her mouth, and Chirrut felt the juice of the peach that had been set on his thigh go through the fabric against his own skin. He didn't care, though. He had focused his senses on what was around his hand.

Baze's fingertips, his body heat. Baze's voice from somewhere close, with the quiet muttering of his home tone. And of course, the coarse coat of the rabbit munching on a sweet treat on his lap.

"Her ears are here," Baze said and moved Chirrut's hand to the side. The fur on the ears was smoother, and the skull of the animal ended where the ear began. Baze took Chirrut's thumb and placed it underneath the large ear.

"You can rub a little. I'm so surprised she's still here - she's very shy around people. Even around me."

"She just likes me."

"She sure does."

And it was a small surprise, when Baze thought of it. Ever since the beginning, ever since they had met for the first time so many months ago, Baze had sensed something universally likable from Chirrut. He had his annoying habits like everybody, but the calmness he drew from the Force and the way he carried himself with confidence allured Baze. And, clearly, it also brought skittish animals closer to him.

He looked up from Griffin to Chirrut's face. From this proximity he saw the creases on his face, and the sadness from before was nowhere to be seen. Chirrut had completely focused on the animal - or on Baze's hand. Or both. Baze subtly caressed the back of Chirrut's palm at the same time as Chirrut rubbed the bunny's ear. The rubbing motion made the bunny happy, and by extension, it made Baze happy. Chirrut could somewhat feel that. He could sense that there was a strong positive vibe in the room.

It was not only in the scent of the tea or the pie in the oven. It was not merely the fresh hay or the bunnies' scent either. It was not even Baze's own scent. It was just the happiness and the pleasure they both held on to in that moment.

Baze parted his lips to speak. Chirrut, before hearing a single word, turned his face more to him, to listen. He'd heard the parting of lips. It was very different from their usual conversations in loud environments.

"The pie smells really nice," Chirrut said quietly. He did not know why he was so quiet all of a sudden. He did not know why Baze held on to his hand, still, even after he had gotten the hang of the right petting motion. But he did not mind it. Every stroke of Baze's thumb made shivers run up and down his spine. His smile faded and he wondered if Baze knew he shook.

And Baze did, but he did have a hunch as to why Chirrut shook so. He himself had a shivering sensation all within him, but instead of curling up to claw at his heart, it reached out to Chirrut.

"I'm glad. I hope it tastes good too."

"Do you bake often?"

"No," Baze said. "Sometimes for Bodhi. Now I thought I'd bake for you."

"That's nice of you."

"I'm just so happy you came."

Chirrut gulped. Baze's voice was so, so quiet. Had Chirrut been standing, he would have had to lean on to something, for Baze made him feel so very weak.

"Thanks for inviting me over."

"No, really," Baze said. "You didn't have to come, but you did."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I dunno," Baze said and lowered his gaze to the bunny. "It's kind of serious when you invite someone over."

"You think so?"

"Yeah."

"I thought I was just a friend."

Baze's heart sank. The shadow from earlier made an unwanted return.

"You want to be more, then?" Baze dared himself to ask.

Chirrut's throat dried. He parted his lips to respond. Griffin had finished her piece of peach, but now stayed for the pleasure of the petting and rubbing of her head.

Chirrut found that he, too, had come to Baze to have a piece of the fruit behind the stage. He found he wanted to touch Baze and feel him around, to have a taste and a bite of him. But he wanted to stay for more. Chirrut's heart was raw and he knew he had never before been that vulnerable. He knew that some words, right then, would hurt him deeply and hurl him to a pit of sadness for a long time - a pit he would rise from, but a pit nevertheless.

His answer was a simple nod. He could not form even the simplest of words just then. Baze put one hand on Chirrut's shoulder, then lifted it to brush Chirrut's cheek with his thumb, all the while caressing his smooth hand with his own, calloused hand of a musician. His thumb touched Chirrut's lips, gave Chirrut the chance to back off. It was all familiar to him. Familiar procedures.

But Chirrut did not back off from the kiss that was like no kiss had been before. Griffin hopped off of Chirrut's lap, but Baze's hold of his hand stayed. His fingers curled around the hand, and the other hand cupped Chirrut's face with the same gentleness as his lips caressed Chirrut's. He had not been able to resist the cherry lips any more. And in that moment, Chirrut's sadness made sense. The brief second of hesitation from before; it had to be this.

It had to be this, because Chirrut practically melted into the kiss. Baze forgot all about the tea and the pie and focused on Chirrut, and on Chirrut only. The man leaned in against him and expected Baze to continue, to somehow respond to the nod, to reassure him. But instead, Baze continued the kiss. This time it did not deepen. It was a light little gesture, dry and warm. Chirrut enjoyed every spark Baze's chapped lips sent through his body. Baze's moustache tickled Chirrut's upper lip, his beard brushed against Chirrut's chin.

Chirrut leaned closer and Baze shuffled himself nearer too. Their arms were in contact, but they both refused to make it an open-mouthed kiss. No, it was a series of soft kisses that left them both breathless. Baze heard the bunnies leap around, only briefly glanced at them, but closed his eyes again. He brushed the apple of Chirrut's cheek.

Their fingers intertwined on top of Chirrut's thigh. Chirrut lifted his hand on Baze's face and felt around it, properly. He found the scar next to his eye and the shade of stubble all over his cheeks.

The tickling around Baze's heart became an embrace. It had ceased being a teasing sensation, and it developed into something fundamentally satisfying.

Baze pulled back, but his lips ghosted against Chirrut's. His eyes closed, he listened to the shaky breath and drew satisfaction from it, all the while feeling like he should have held Chirrut, closer, and closer. It was not a sadistic satisfaction by far. However, it was but a human thing to feel pleasure from being needed.

"Does it look like I wanna be just friends?" Baze whispered.

"Telepathy is not possible in our time and age, Baze Malbus." Chirrut chuckled, dryly. "I can't read your thoughts."

"I wanna teach you to read them."

"I can read people," Chirrut said. "Somehow. Somewhat. Sometimes. But you, I want to read. Listen to..."

"Can you read me?"

"Barely."

It sounded way sadder than Chirrut had intended. Baze cupped both his cheeks with his palms and pressed their foreheads together.

"Stay here for the night."

Chirrut's heart soared. In a momentary burst of sudden delight, he nibbled at Baze's lower lip.

"A friendly sleepover?"

"Don't test me, Chirrut."

Chirrut giggled. A wiggly nose touched his knee, and he gently moved his hand towards it.

"I'll stay."

A soft tongue licked his fingertip. Baze noticed this, and realized that Chirrut was being groomed by his more jumpy, more skittish rabbit after barely half an hour of knowing him.

"Only if you don't burn your pie, though," Chirrut added. An urgency filled Baze when he stumbled up from the floor, accompanied by Chirrut's crystal clear laughter.

* * *

Chirrut pulled the thin blanket over himself. The scent of raspberry started to fade. He knew he should have showered. Behind the closed door, he could hear the rabbits scratching, jumping, digging, doing whatever they did when night fell. Baze had closed the door so they would not disturb the lovemaking. And they had not. For hours, they had crumpled the sheets of Baze's double bed, used at least three condoms. Baze had taken care that they would be thrown away. Chirrut did not want to dress up.

The time was only two in the morning. Baze, in the afterglow and throbbing of his insides sat on the side of the bed and reached for his acoustic guitar. Chirrut extended his arm and tickled gently at the smooth skin of Baze's back, the back he had clawed, the hips he had held on to so tight they now had red marks Baze would carry with pride.

"Don't go anywhere," Chirrut mumbled.

"I'm not going," said Baze and placed the guitar on his bare leg. The thin wood felt cool against him when he did so. He plucked the pinch harmonics of a few strings and just with the help of his ear tuned the instrument quickly. Since he tuned it every day, sometimes multiple times a day, he did not need to spend a lot of time on it.

"A guitar?" Chirrut mumbled and huddled closer. He wrapped himself around Baze in a way that Baze sat against Chirrut's stomach. Chirrut's knees met with Baze's thigh, and he poked the guitar with his fingertip. He knew Baze's hand and the neck of the guitar were just above his head.

" _Ibanez_."

"Hm?"

"The label."

Baze looked down at the serene face of the fluff-headed man.

"Was it good?" Chirrut asked quietly. Baze laughed as his fingers found the most basic few chords. He plucked them, each string individually, instead of strumming them.

" _Can_  it be bad with you?"

"It can be bad with anyone."

"Well it ain't with you. I have a question for you though."

"Fire away," said Chirrut and let his eyes close. The sound of the acoustic guitar was much like Baze's voice. It was smoky and beautiful, it was calming and it was just there, for him, for him only. Baze plucked the strings with an elastic guitar pick, and the metallic picking sounds barely registered in Chirrut's brain.

"Why do you have that tattoo?" Baze asked.

He played the most low-pitched chords he could find, and then started to strum a few melodies while humming fittingly. The melody was distantly familiar to Chirrut who in his physical afterglow state drifted in-between sleep and awareness.

"Hmm?"

"You can't even see it."

"Really?" Chirrut pretended shock. "How could you not tell me..."

"Don't play ignorant." Baze had no annoyance on his face. He stared at the strings he plucked and dwelt in the comfort of the harmonies.

"My friend made sure it looked good."

"Alright."

"It's important to me. Ancient Jedhan symbol. It's called the _S_ _tarbird_."

"And now it's the symbol of the Resistance."

"Yes."

"That's enough reason, isn't it?" Baze said, and took a deep breath. Then he hummed a melody, with a few words here and there.

"I think so." Chirrut placed his lips against the thigh. Behind his eyelids he returned to their moments of desire, their tea time and their jokes, their talks about politics and music and rabbits. But the familiarity of the melody brought him, almost forcefully, back to the moment. His brow wrinkled.

"I know this song," he said. Baze smiled.

"Finally," Baze said. "It took you a while."

"What song is i-"

Then Baze's humming became lyrics. He had not warmed his voice up, but it nevertheless had the quality of a clear, experience singer. The lyrics brought Chirrut back to the protest he had first heard about Baze in. First listened to his current favourite music in. His eyes opened and he turned his face to Baze.

"It's..."

"We can't have it in the set because it's a bit too long for what we currently want to play," Baze said as he lengthened the main riff in order to talk between verses.

"But I'll play it for you whenever you want to."

"Whenever?"

"Whenever. Aren't you my boyfriend or something? Boys like it when you play soft shit to them."

Every chord struck true, resonated in Chirrut so strongly they urged tears into his eyes. His lids fell so he would not not show it, he laughed to cover it, and Baze did not express that he had noticed it. Chirrut nuzzled his forehead against the bare skin and they spoke no more.

Chirrut Îmwe listened to  _The Guardian_ of _The Whills_ play.

**Author's Note:**

> \- First chapter song lyrics are from Rainbow's song _Long Live Rock And Roll_. Second chapter song lyrics are from Deep Purple's song _Fireball_. Third chapter song lyrics are from Arch Enemy's song _Nemesis_. Fourth chapter song lyrics are from Judas Priest's song _Fever_. Fifth chapter lyrics are from _No One Like You by Scorpions._  
>  \- Many events in the fic are inspired by real life events from the lives of people I know.  
> \- Special shoutouts to my friends Unski and Hassel <3  
> \- Hit me up on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/CountRazoff) if you'd like.  
> \- My fiancée drew bassist Baze [a few](https://twitter.com/little_amb/status/916701813952405505) [times](https://twitter.com/little_amb/status/910975297448763392). Check them out (on Twitter)!  
> \- Here's a [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/blackworth/playlist/5NK1LxutIhwIDJiRo7bVWh) I composed for this fic. It has all the songs the lyrics of which I used in the chapters, and a few other inspirational tracks.  
> \- Thank you so much for reading!


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